


i am the heart of a murdered woman

by deathsweetqueen



Series: i am the heart of a murdered woman [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Mob, Breaking Up & Making Up, F/M, Female Tony Stark, Hindu Tony Stark, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Indian Tony Stark, M/M, Misogyny, Mob Boss Bucky Barnes, Mob Boss Steve Rogers, Multi, Parent Tony Stark, Past Domestic Violence, Past Relationship(s), Protective Avengers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:35:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 118,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23630161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathsweetqueen/pseuds/deathsweetqueen
Summary: After the regrettable death of her husband, Antonia Stark's life revolves around one thing and one thing alone: her four-year-old son, Peter.And then, a vengeful ex-employee attempts to blow her up, and before she even knows what's happening, she and Peter are staying with New York's resident mobsters, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, who promise to protect her and her son from a looming threat.The problem is that Toni knows these two men, knows them entirely too well.When she was seventeen, they broke her heart.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: i am the heart of a murdered woman [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1989157
Comments: 757
Kudos: 1656
Collections: A Labyrinth of Fics, Marvel Trumps Hate 2019, literally amazing i could read these over and over





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Juulna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juulna/gifts), [justanotherpipedream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherpipedream/gifts).



> Here is my MTH fic for Juulna and summerpipedream! Thank you so much for your generous donation, guys, and I hope you enjoy the fic!

Toni waits patiently as the school bell rings. It’s a sharp, bleating sound that splits the air clean, and Toni winces, as if on cue, her face twisting in displeasure. The doors blow open, far ahead of her, and the kids flood out like animals scrabbling in a stampede, bags thrown over their shoulders, screaming their freedom from the terrifying bondage that is the American education system.

The elder kids are the first kids to come out, the ones that have had enough of school in the very few years they have been forced to attend the education system’s embrace. The younger children come at the back, and finally, it’s the kindergarteners, with their Barbie and Clifford backpacks, pigtails and bowl haircuts.

Toni’s face cracks open in a smile, showing the razor line of her straight, white teeth, when she sees Peter in the shadow of the doorway. He scans the mob of parents on the other side of the school, warily, as if dreading the instance where she doesn’t show up, where she’s not waiting – Toni says _fuck no_ to that, as if it’s inevitable that she’ll fail as a mother, as if there’s anything more important, worthier of her time than waiting here, waiting for her son to come out of those doors, so he can be sure that she’s there, so he can be sure, know for certainty that his mother is going to be there to take him home.

Peter spots her, grins with all the adoration that a four-year-old can possibly have for his mother, and runs, pumping his little legs. He stops just short of her, and she crouches down, extending her arms so that he can surge up into them and she can lift him onto her hip, smoothing his dark hair away from his face.

“Hi, _Amma_ ,” he says, cheerfully. “Did you miss me?”

Toni presses her mouth to his hair. “Of course, I missed my baby, baby,” she teases, poking him in the stomach.

He giggles, a high, pealing sound that makes her heart flutter in her chest.

“How was school?” she asks, throwing his backpack over her free shoulder.

“Very good. Miss Patterson wants us to do a family tree,” he explains, voice hushed. “Can we do it when we get home?”

“Of course.”

“But…” Peter hesitates. “You promised ice cream,” he says, carefully, like he’s preparing to bargain.

She stares down at him fondly – more and more, as the years go by, Peter reminds her of herself.

He has her look, of course, her dark hair and dark skin and her smile and her eyes; he has her intelligence, as far as she’s concerned, her sharp wit, her clever mind, her hunger, her interest, but there’s sweetness that is not hers, a kindness that she had lost a long time ago.

 _Let him stay kind_ , she thinks. _Let him not end up like me._

The whispers follow her, as she walks past, Peter balanced on her hip, the parents, the mothers muttering to one another, sending her piercing, inquisitive looks, starved for scandal, hungry for gossip.

They hated her for many things.

They hated her for being rich – Toni thinks that’s the one they struggle with the most, the fact that Toni is hands-down the richest woman in the world and still enrolls her son in public school instead of home-schooling him with tutors and nannies, the sort of thing that they’ve come to expect from watching fictional rich people on television and in movies. They hate that she drives in an Audi and goes home to her high-rise penthouse apartment and has the opportunity of taking her son to her stately manor in Long Island on weekends whenever she wants to. They hate that she wears jeans and band t-shirts, gold at her ears and her throat and her ankles but not much else to pick her son up from school instead of wearing diamonds and rubies and tight little dresses that show half her tits and the six-inch heels that make her tower over everyone like she’s worth more than them.

It’s desperately ironic, the fact that they want her to be all of those things but would hate her for it if she ever fulfilled their fantasies.

They hate that she works, that she has the temerity to raise a son, on her own, nonetheless, and that not be the be-all and end-all of her existence, that a _career_ ( _gasp-shock-horror_ ) gives her just as much pleasure as motherhood does. Not only does she have a career, but she has a _man’s_ career. She’s the CEO of Stark Industries, a multi-billion dollar industrial company, the largest tech conglomerate in the world, she’s the primary defensive contractor for democratic nations all over the world, and there are lines for ten blocks outside stores when she releases a new StarkPhone. She had the nerve to study a _man’s_ education, engineering and maths and computers and science.

They hated Ty when he was alive, his head of golden hair and blue eyes and proud, tall, lean frame, in a suit, at every preschool function, smiling that pearl-cut smile, arm draped over Toni’s shoulders like he couldn’t bear to be parted from her, ruffling little Peter’s hair and hoisting him up onto his shoulders.

Their husbands are all pot-bellied, balding men screwing their secretaries, and they can never forgive her for it, for having a husband who loves her and who loves the son they made together.

They hate Peter too, she thinks.

Although, how anyone can possibly hate the sweet boy that is her son is completely and utterly beyond her.

But she thinks they hate that Peter is smart, smarter than any boy or girl his age, the very image of his mother; they hate that Peter is kind, kinder than most of the worms they’ve expelled out into the world, and he was born and grew into abject privilege. Logic would dictate that Peter should be a right spoiled brat by virtue of his upbringing, by virtue of the fact that his mother is _that_ Toni Stark, billionaire socialite and engineer, and that his father is _that_ Tiberius Stone, millionaire media mogul.

But he’s not.

Peter is the sweetest boy that Toni could have pushed out of her.

He inherited nothing of her, thankfully.

He inherited none of her meanness, her jealousy, her resentment, her hunger, her greed, her wants, her insecurities, her failures and foolishness.

He was just good, a good heart and a good mind. Good everything.

She prayed every day that it meant that he’d remain like that, _good_ , but that he’d protect himself, save himself from hurt, something that she’d never quite learned for herself.

But most of all, she thinks they hate her because her husband is dead. Oh, they were jealous of Ty, of what they perceived was the perfect man: handsome and rich and loving and intelligent, and what more could they have wanted? But more than that, more than they valued having a partner that matched them in everything, they craved the freedom. They pretended that motherhood was everything, that motherhood put air into their lungs, but they want something more. It’s an itch under their skin that they don’t want to acknowledge.

She has it, the freedom, the finances, the ability to do whatever the fuck she wants, raise her son in the way _she_ wants to, without some idiot male stumbling in, every now and then, puffing his chest, sometimes curdled with alcohol, and making his demands clear, expecting them to be followed, because even fair-weather fathers have more rights than good mothers do.

She had buried her husband, put him in the dirt and become a widow at twenty-seven, and they have not forgiven her for it.

“Ice cream it is,” she says, sweetly, squeezing her son to her, as she walks past.

* * *

They ditch the car at the school and walk to the ice cream place, Toni’s hand curled with Peter’s, his backpack thrown over one of her shoulders.

“So, what flavour, baby?”

Peter looks thoughtful for a moment. “Cookies ‘n’ Cream,” he says, eyes narrowed.

Toni makes a delighted noise. “Cookies ‘n’ Cream sounds wonderful, baby,” she gushes.

“What about you, _Amma_?” he asks, curiously.

Toni sighs. “I am considering salted caramel,” she says, conspiratorially.

“Ooh,” Peter pouts. “I didn’t think of that. Can I have some of yours, _Amma_?”

“Of course, baby,” Toni replies, easily.

The ice cream bar is a nice break from reality, and she eats up the salted caramel like it’s crack and it gives her the same kind of rush. She keeps one eye on Peter, the whole time, making sure that he doesn’t drip ice cream everywhere.

But Peter’s neat for his age; his spoon goes nowhere but inside his mouth, and there’s not even a dribble from the corners down his chin that she has to wipe away.

He catches her staring and gives her a toothy smile. “Can I have some of that salted caramel now?” he asks, pouting.

Toni grins and pushes her bowl towards him. “Go crazy, baby.”

Peter shouts, gleefully, and digs his spoon in, rabid fervour in his eyes, and Toni’s world disappears into a painfully beautiful scene of ice cream and chocolate and sprinkles somehow getting into her hair.

* * *

“You didn’t have any homework, right?” she asks, peering down at her son.

Peter rolls his eyes. “Of course not, _Amma_ ,” he says, with all the belligerence of a child.

“Fine, fine,” she sighs. “I was just asking.”

She stares down at the long street for them to walk before they get anywhere near the school and her car. The sun is setting, a little too quickly for Toni’s comfort, and she sends Peter, unaware, a concerned look.

“Come on, let’s get going,” she says, in a low, rushed voice. “We can have _rasam sadam_ for dinner; how about that?”

“With chilli chips?” Peter asks, carefully.

“With chilli chips,” Toni agrees.

Peter pumps his little fist in the air. “Yes,” he hisses, and it makes her laugh.

And then, some lunatic, with stringy, dark hair all around his face, a thick beard, and red, bloated eyes, flashes a gun in her face.

Toni, for a long, terrible second, forgets how to breathe, how to think, only sees the gun waving in her face, the gun she notes is one of hers, hysterically, and so, she knows exactly how it can kill her, how quickly it can kill her and how stupid the person holding it is, which can only mean her death will be a hundred times’ worse.

And then, there’s Peter, who knows enough, who’s clever enough to go behind her legs, shaking, and her hand is still on his shoulder, tangled with his, so she knows he’s shaking, she knows that he’s afraid, that there are tears in his eyes, because her jeans are getting wet, just around her knee.

That’s the worst.

Because she also knows how the gun can kill her son, her only son, the only son she will ever have, how quickly it can kill him and again, how fucking stupid and awful the person holding it is, because he can see the little boy huddling behind her, and he still refuses to lower his gun.

Behind her eyes, though, she sees Peter’s little, broken body on the ground, in a dirty, filthy alley, face streaked with blood, and a scream builds at the back of her throat, an urge which she cages, catches behind her teeth.

“Take it easy,” she says, steadily, braver on the outside than she is on the inside.

“Just…” he stutters, clenching his teeth. “Just get in the fucking alley, lady.”

“Okay,” she soothes, tightening her hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Okay, just put the gun down.”

He snarls at her. “Get in the fucking alley.”

A sliver of fear curls in her chest at the way he waves that gun around.

She backs away into the alley, pulling Peter along with her, her lungs and heart in her throat.

“Amma?” Peter asks in a small voice.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” she murmurs, as cheerfully as possible.

“Shut the fuck up, or I’m gonna, I’m gonna blow your brains out,” the man says, voice high and thin, as he scratches at her hair.

She backs up until she’s pressing Peter into the fence that lies at the rear of the alley, hoping that the wire is smooth enough that it won’t cut Peter’s soft skin.

“Give me your wallet,” the man says, spitting the words out.

In another universe, or at least a couple of years ago, before there was a little flutter in her stomach and Toni realised _shit, there’s a baby in there_ , Toni might have been a little belligerent, a little more of a fighter. She might have raised an eyebrow, acted like a bitch, treated him like a shit, and then, punched him in his stupid, gun-waving, druggie face.

But Toni’s a mother, and her son is standing right behind her.

She can’t really be a bitch in this situation.

“Fine, just let me…” Toni hedges. “It’s in my handbag. Can I reach for it?”

“Make it quick,” he snaps at her.

Toni’s heart pounds in her chest, as she reaches for the zipper on her handbag, pulling the leather apart, so she can reach inside for that flat, long rectangular weight that is her wallet. She pulls it out and gives it to him, her hand shaking and flushed fever hot.

“You got what you wanted,” she says, almost defiantly. “Now, leave us alone.”

Peter trembles against her thighs.

The man’s grimy hands open up her wallet, fisting inside and around the bills, stuffing them into his pocket.

And then, his face curdles.

He lifts his eyes, and he looks at her, like this is the first he’s seeing her, and he hadn’t just forced her into an alley so he could mug her.

Then again, Toni hasn’t partaken in narcotics in years, so she doesn’t exactly know what total gutter drugs do to people nowadays.

“You…” he stumbles, brow damp and sweating profusely. “You’re Toni Stark?”

Toni rears back, keeping herself taut and guarded – usually recognition of who she is means he’s going to want to peel her skin open so he can steal her kidneys along with her wallet.

“You can see that for yourself, can’t you? You’ve got my ID,” she says, warily, hand sliding through Peter’s hair to comfort him.

He leans into her touch, his little hands reaching to clamp down as hard as he can around her wrist, keeping her there in case she leaves.

She might, if the man kills her here in this alley, but she won’t do so willingly, that’s for sure.

Acid rolls around her gut.

 _I love you, Peter_ , she promises to no one that can hear her. _I love you so much, I love you, I love you._

“Fuck, no, no,” the man says, suddenly, half-wild, the turn from zero to one-eighty making Toni’s head spin. “Shit, why didn’t you…” He lifts his eyes, and they’re wide, nervous as a doe’s. “I didn’t know, okay, I didn’t fucking know,” he practically pleads to her. “Please, I swear, _I swear_ , I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have… I wouldn’t have _done_ anything, come near you or anything, if I’d known. I _didn’t_. _Fuck_!”

Toni just watches as her would-be murderer drives himself into a nervous wreck.

Finally, he shakes his head, shoves the wallet back at her, making her yelp.

“Look, lady, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was you. I wouldn’t have…” he trails off. “That stupid fucking list,” he mutters to himself. “Come on, Gary, get it together, get away from her before someone sees you.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” she asks, flatly, braving one of her trademark condescending looks.

Gary looks at her, terrified, his eyes red and swollen. “Look, I didn’t know it was you, I promise,” he says, pathetically earnest, like it would matter to her.

“Okay,” she says, slowly.

“I’m gonna leave now,” he tells her, backing away, slowly, gun back in his jeans, hands splayed out like she was the one about to shoot him and not vice versa.

“Okay?”

_What the fuck is going on here?_

He backs away, slowly, until he’s out of the alley and in the middle of the sidewalk, and then, he bolts, running for it like she’s about to start chasing him with a chainsaw.

_What the fuck?_

“Amma?” says a small voice.

Toni rounds on her feet, and Peter’s peering up at her, his eyes big and round as the moon in his face, still wet with tears.

“That man was weird,” he sniffles.

“He was,” Toni agrees and smooths her hand over his hair, her thumb wiping away the tears that have fallen. “He’s gone now, though.”

“Promise?” Peter demands.

He blinks up at her, purposefully, and she lifts him up, so he can drape her thin little arms around her neck, tucking his face against her neck and sniffling against it. She rubs her hand across his back, as he shudders.

“It’s okay, baby, we’re okay, now,” she soothes, as she starts walking them out of the alley way.

“He was scary,” Peter mutters.

“He was.”

“Were you scared, _Amma_?” Peter asks, curiously.

“Not at all,” she says, immediately.

Peter pokes at her cheek. “Are you sure?” he asks, suspiciously.

Toni sighs. “Of course. my baby was scared, so I turned into a terrifying duck. Do you remember when we went to the park, and in the pond-”

Peter gasps. “That mean turtle duck bit me,” he grumbles.

“Do you remember why it did that, though?” she pushes, as she turns around the corner.

“You said, you said _that’s_ what _ammas_ are like,” he murmurs. “If you mess with their babies…” he mock-bites her neck with his baby teeth. “They’re gonna bite you back,” he says, giggling, the high-pitched noise pealing through the night air.

Toni laughs. “Exactly, so I wasn’t scared,” she lies. “Because I was all set to bite the bad man back if he came anywhere near my baby.”

She presses a smacking kiss to his cheek, making him squirm as little boys start to do.

“ _Amma_ , I’m not a baby,” he says, long-sufferingly.

“Okay, fine,” she sighs, turning around the corner towards the school. “You’re not a baby; you’re my big boy.”

“Thank you,” Peter says, primly.

* * *

The next night, Toni goes to pick up Peter from school, and they don’t go and get ice cream, much to Peter’s insufferable pout. Instead, she drives Peter back to the penthouse, leaves him in Pepper’s tender, stern care and lies about going to get some errands done, slipping out the door.

Peter is too busy braiding Pepper’s hair to bother to notice or to question her excuses too hard.

She makes her way to the ice cream place, parking outside, and tracks her footsteps from the night before, peering into every single alleyway as she passes them by, searching for the night before. There’s a gun tucked into her leather jacket, just for protection, as her father used to insist, and she reaches inside, palming the hilt purposefully, just to ease her bones, if it will keep her moving forward.

She finds him three blocks from the ice cream store, in one of the alleys, covered in a blanket as filthy as the ground he’s lying on. There’s a duffle bag beside him, filled with clothes, crumpled and shoved inside, like he knows he might have to leave at a moment’s notice.

As she nears him, her nose crinkles at the smell of him, the stench of day-old body odour and piss and other things that she hadn’t had to smell since she’d manage to get Peter potty-trained.

“Up, get up,” she snarls, her mouth pulled back, baring the razor line of her teeth, kicking at him.

The man startles with a yelp, peering up at her, and when he realises who he is, he makes another loud, terrified noise, as he scuttles away from her, like a crab, sweating profusely.

“Hey, lady, leave me alone,” he begs.

“What did you mean last night?” she demands, without missing a beat.

“Please, please, you don’t know what you’re doing,” he tells her, half-desperate, half-wild. “Just go, get out of here.”

“I think I know _exactly_ what I’m doing here,” she says, flatly, stalking forwards. “You mentioned something about a list, and then, you let us go. You knew who I was, and then, you just walked away. Why did you walk away?”

The man gulps out a laugh. “You know, most people would be glad I didn’t mug them; why the fuck would you come down here just to interrogate me?”

Toni slams her foot into his calf, making him cry out and clutch at the limb. “Because you pointed a loaded gun near my son last night, you piece of shit,” she growls low in her throat. “You shoved us into an alley and made me think that you were either going to kill me and make my son watch as his mother bled to death in a fucking alley, or you were going to kill us both and take my son from this world too. Either way, you don’t get a study into my reasoning. You just have to answer my questions. What list were you talking about? Why did you let us go?”

“I don’t have to tell you _shit_ , lady,” the man retorts.

Toni pulls the gun out of her jacket and aims the barrel right between his eyes. “I make these for a living, did you know that?” she says, bored. “I’m a better shot than most soldiers, because my father insisted that I should know the things that I was going to make one day better than anyone else in the world. So, yeah, I’m not just some hysterical person waving a gun around, waiting for it to explode in my hand or shoot some unsuspecting bystander. I’m not scared of you, I’m not worried, I’m not emotional at all. All I can see is you standing opposite to me, holding a gun cheaper than this, which likely meant that you were going to miss killing me cleanly and instead, you probably would’ve cut an artery and I would’ve bled out long before an ambulance would ever get to me, and my _son_ was right behind me. He was crying into my jeans, because he was so scared, for me, for himself, just so scared. _You_ did that, _you_ , so you should really fucking tell me what I want to know, or I’m going to shoot you in the leg and give you a permanent limp.”

The man blanches. “You can’t… you can’t do that. You won’t get away with it,” he stammers.

“I’m Antonia Stark,” she says, flatly. “I can get away with anything I fucking want. _Tell me_.”

She gets ready to pull the trigger, because she doesn’t lie, because there are no bluffs to call where she is concerned.

“Fine, fine,” he yelps, holding his hands outstretched in front of him, as if to ward away a bullet. “There’s a list, a list that goes around this part of town, a list of people we don’t touch.”

“ _We_?” she lifts an eyebrow.

“All of us,” the man grumbles. “All of us who live down here, on the streets, in the flats.”

“What the fuck is this list?” Toni asks.

“Like I said, it’s a list of people we’re not allowed to touch, to rob, to do anything to,” the man tells her, half annoyed at the interrogation.

“Who else is on this list?” Toni says, archly.

“You, a couple of the cops that show up around here, the people who work down at the women’s shelter, doctors, nurses, a mayor’s aide here and there. It can be an evolving list,” he waves off.

“And did I evolve onto this list?”

The man shrugs. “You’ve been on it for as long as I’ve ever been down around these parts, lady, and that’s like six years or something?”

Toni frowns. “Where the fuck is this stuff coming from?”

The man just stares at her for a moment. “Wait, you don’t know who might want your name on a protection list?”

Toni huffs and folds her arms over her chest. “Look, I’m a pretty well-known person in this country, even in this world; that’s not bragging, it’s just truth, so forgive me, if I’m not aware of every single moron who might want me to be favourable towards them. Now, answer the fucking question.”

She digs the point of her boot where she’d kicked him earlier, and he winces. “Okay, _okay_!” he whines. “The mob, okay, it comes from the mob. They send it around to all of us, metaphorically, because it’s not an actual paper list or anything.”

Toni lifts an eyebrow. “You’ve got a pretty extensive vocabulary for a druggie,” she comments.

“Fuck you, Princess,” he says, sending her an unimpressed look.

“Tell me about the mob,” she orders.

“How do you _not_ know about the mob?” he complains.

Toni scowls absolute murder. “Are you always this belligerent with people who are pointing a gun at your stupid, smug face?” she demands.

As if only now remembering the gun in her hand, the man’s face changes like a cloud covering the sun, and he shies away from her, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

“Okay, okay, lady, take it easy,” he soothes.

“Tell me about the fucking mob,” she snarls.

“It’s the Irish and the Russians,” he explains, haltingly, sweating profusely. “They joined up a couple of years back, when the _Pakhan_ and the _Captain_ came into power. The list was mainly mob families before, wife and kids, you know, the ones you don’t touch. They expanded the list when they came into power.”

Something impossible and undefinable curls in her chest. “Tell me about the _Pakhan_ and the _Captain_ ,” she demands. “Who are they? What do they do? When did they come into power?”

The man rubs the back of his head. “Lady, do you really think that I have any fucking clue about the mob’s inner workings?” he asks, gaping at her in disbelief. “I don’t fucking know anything about them, never even seen them before. No one does. They’re not exactly rolling out the ticker-tape parades for them, are they? They operate from the shadows.”

“You don’t even know a name?” Toni asks, incredulously. “What is legitimately the point of you?”

“What’s it to you?” he asks, rudely. “You’re on a fucking list that keeps you safe. What more could you possibly want?”

“You might be the most infuriating druggie I have ever met,” Toni finally says. She fists a hand in her jacket for her wallet. “Get clean,” she orders, throwing him the bills and storms off, her boots clacking against the ground on her way out of the alley.

* * *

See, the problem is, when Toni becomes curious about something, she finds it difficult to let go, which leads to late nights of research.

It’s both a curse and a gift.

Right now, after she’s spent two hours singing Peter into another fitful bout of sleep, after yet another nightmare, she’s sitting on a sofa in the lounge just beyond the corridor of bedrooms, with the holographic screen she peers at mounted just above her lap.

Her first search of _Pakhan_ results in 221,000 results.

Joy.

“Might I be of some assistance, Miss Antonia?” JARVIS asks, his voice rumbling to the surface.

Toni leans back against the armrest of the couch and flicks away the holographic screen which bursts into pieces, like starlight, before fading away.

“What do you know of the mob, JARVIS?” she sighs, squinting up at the ceiling.

“I believe you will have to be more specific,” he tells her, unashamedly.

Toni sits up, cracking her neck. “Look for instances of the Irish and Russian mobs in New York boroughs. What can you find?”

JARVIS hums. “I have found numerous instances of mob activity in Brooklyn mainly, Miss Antonia.”

“Brooklyn?” Toni straightens.

“Yes, miss. And as you said, it appears to involve primarily the Russian and Irish mobs. From what seems to be an authentic blog from a known conspiracy theorist in the area-”

“Because that’s the benchmark for our sources of information nowadays,” she says, dryly.

“Quite,” JARVIS replies in the exact same tone. “It appears that his information corroborates the information that you received from the dreg of society that you came into contact with earlier.”

“Wow,” Toni says, grabbing the bottle of cider from the coffee table (she only ever has cider after Peter is long asleep, mostly because it’s the only light alcohol she can drink without wanting to throw up; when Peter goes to spend the night or the weekend with his Uncle Rhodey or Aunt Pepper, then, she can dip her toes in the harder stuff). “That’s a lot of judgment right there, J-baby,” she says, her tone not quite reproachful but not quite approving.

“You will have to forgive me, miss, considering that the particular dreg of society that we are talking about had an armed weapon pointed at you and Master Peter not two nights ago and was threatening to kill you should you not give him money for more drugs, so yes I am judgmental over the man’s choices in this world.”

“I can take care of myself,” she reminds him, a little amused.

“Which is evidenced by the fact that you are currently sitting safe inside your residence and would not have been helped by that man you have encountered the last few nights,” JARVIS says, primly.

Toni sighs. “Will you tell me about these mobs?”

“Mob,” JARVIS corrects. “It would seem that the activity is committed by one conglomerate, rather than individual gangs. It is the Russians and the Irish, from the police reports in the area.”

“What is the activity like?” Toni asks, curiously.

“Murder, theft, extortion, fraud, assault, kidnapping. Although…” JARVIS hesitates.

Toni straightens. “What is it, J?”

“It would appear that whoever is leading these two mafia groups are heavily involved in Good Samaritan work.”

“I don’t understand,” Toni says, slowly.

“Much of the crimes laid at their door can be traced to some… potential act of vigilante heroism,” JARVIS explains.

“Do you have an example?”

“Many, Miss Antonia,” JARVIS replies. “For example, two weeks ago, a man’s corpse washed up on the East River. Investigation into his identity revealed an intention to commit acts of child sexual abuse to children younger than ten.”

Toni’s stomach roils with disgust; out of instinct, her eyes drag towards the corridor, dark and unlit, leading towards Peter’s bedroom, where he sleeps undisturbed.

She takes a deep breath.

If someone, some monster like the one that JARVIS was talking about, came near her son, she would light him on fire, burn him alive, down to the ground, and she’d be content with the consequences of such a crime.

“Okay,” she says, slowly. “That’s just one.”

“There was a theft from a warehouse by the docks, operated by Hammer Industries.”

Toni snorts.

“Apparently, the goods that were stolen were of terribly substandard quality and as such, may have led to grievous injuries had they been supplied to the community. As such, it is assumed that this unholy alliance of crime families was aware of these defects in the goods and acted before they could be distributed.”

“So, what, we have mob bosses with a heart of gold?” Toni asks, sceptically. “I’m less inclined to believe it.”

“May I ask why?” JARVIS asks, curiously.

Toni shrugs. “I don’t know. Aren’t… mob bosses supposed to demand protection money from small businesses and sell teenage girls into prostitution? I just… I have a hard time believing that these guys are the good guys in this scenario. And there’s this list now? A list with my name on it that keeps me protected from all the arseholes in the area? Why? Why is the mob interested in me? It can’t be for anything good.”

JARVIS has no answer for her.

She groans and kicks out against the couch’s armrest.

“Do you have any clue about the identities of these guys?” she asks, wearily, pinching the bridge of her nose. “The _Pakhan_ and the Captain?”

“They are very good at hiding their identity,” JARVIS says, apologetically. “But I will scour surveillance footage in the areas they are likely spotted to see if I can find a match.”

“Thanks, J,” she sighs. “Okay, I should probably head to bed. If I don’t get up by six, I’ll never be able to get some work done before it’s time to get Peter ready for school.”


	2. ii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "murder strut" square of the Marvel Polyship Bingo.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: a lot of misogyny and sexualised speech directed towards a woman who is being threatened by a man; assault of a woman by a man.

The next morning is a terrifying morning in itself.

Peter takes forever to get up, clutching at his pillow and his stuffed cow for dear life, and she’s about at the end of her patience, ready to drag him by his feet, but somehow restrains the urge.

“Peter, honey,” she says, gently, perching on the edge of her bed. “You have to start getting ready for school.”

Peter peeks at her from the edge of his quilt, pouting, lip sticking out. “I don’t want to,” he whines.

Toni sighs. “Well, you have to. If you don’t, you won’t get to play with your friends at lunch time,” she tries to cajole.

Peter shakes his head. “I don’t care,” he says, stubbornly.

Funnily enough, Toni has seen the exact same expression on Peter’s face in the mirror a hundred times before, so she really only has herself to blame, not even Ty, and it’s become easy as breathing to blame her dead husband whenever things don’t go her way.

Toni pinches the bridge of her nose. “Okay, Pete,” she says, straightening her shoulders.

She climbs into the bed with her son, despite his squawk of disapproval. She kicks off her heels and is no longer mindful of her hair, when she shuffles underneath the small blanket that only reaches to her mid-calf by the time that she’s well under there.

Peter, despite the suspicion creasing his brow, doesn’t hesitate to curl up against her side as she lays her hand on his hair, brushing the curls out of his eyes.

“I am going to explain a very big person, grown-up thing to you, okay,” she says, conspiratorially, turning onto her side, so she can look him in the eye.

The suspicion slips, just for a moment, replaced with curiosity, before it returns with vengeance. “What is it?”

“There’s a thing called truancy. Do you know what truancy is?” she asks, plainly.

Peter shakes his head.

“Okay, do you remember when we talked about rules, and how like when your teacher makes you follow the rules in class and out in the playground, big people have rules too, that they have to follow?” she asks.

Peter nods. “The President makes the rules.”

Toni grins, fleeting and soft. “Well, it’s a little more complicated than that,” she hedges. “But yeah, pretty much, the President makes the rules for big people. One of these rules is that when you have a kid, like I do,” she ruffles his hair, and he bats her hand away, making a soft, disgruntled sound and glowering at her. “And you have a kid that goes to school, you _have_ to make sure that your kid goes to school.”

“Why?” Peter demands.

Toni hums. “Well, because it’s important for kids, especially kids at your age, to go to school. They need to learn things, so they can grow up and be able to live in the world like _amma_ does. They need to meet kids their age. It helps their development. So, the President decided he needed to make sure that kids went to school. And he put that on parents, to make sure that their babies went to school. So, if you don’t go today, _amma_ will get in trouble with the President. Is that what you want?”

Peter pouts again. “No,” he says, sullenly.

“No, of course, you don’t. You’re a good boy,” she says, fondly, pressing a swift kiss to his hair.

“So, I have to go to school?” Peter demands, shoulders slumping.

“I’m afraid so, baby, but I might have a deal for you,” she offers.

Peter narrows his eyes. “What sort of deal?” he asks, suspicion laden in his voice.

 _Good_ , she thinks, approvingly. _Never agree to a settlement without making sure you know what the terms are._

Toni sighs. “How about this? When you’re done today, I’ll come and pick you up, and we can go to Stark Industries, because _amma_ has some work to do, and we can try and make that robot you’ve been wanting to make?”

Peter gasps. “C-3PO?” he says, urgently.

Toni laughs. “C-3PO,” she agrees.

Peter throws his thin little arms around her waist, burrowing against her stomach, and he says _thank you thank you thank you_ again and again, until she’s laughing all over again, and this time, when she drags him from the bed, he doesn’t give her any trouble at all.

* * *

“So, if we put this wire here,” Toni says, sticking her tongue out between her teeth, as her tweezers delicately pluck at the red, thin wire over to the circuit board in the gold robot’s elbow. “His eyes will light up.”

She hands the tweezers over to Peter, and he does the same thing that she does, with his tongue, eyes crossing over a little, as he pulls the wire over and connects the sharp, metal tip with the dexterity of an engineer in their second year of a degree to the circuit board.

C-3PO’s eyes light up.

Peter gasps and reels back, knocking against her knees and practically scooting backwards into her lap.

“Did you see that?” he asks, gleefully. “ _Amma_ , did you see that? His eyes lit up!”

Toni grins and kisses his hair. “They did, all because of what you did, baby. _You_ did that!”

“I did, I did that!”

There’s a knock on the door, and Toni looks over her shoulder.

“J?” she calls out.

“Miss Potts is at your door, Miss Antonia,” JARVIS replies, promptly.

“Oh, Pep, you can come in!” she says, voice growing louder.

The door turns translucent, revealing Pepper standing on the other side, clutching a number of manila folders and binders to her chest, tapping the toe of her heel against the ground insistently, and slides open with a slick little click, allowing Pepper to cross the threshold.

Peter follows her eyes, and his gaze grows excited when he spots Pepper.

“Aunt Pepper, Aunt Pepper, look at what I did!” he says, absolutely thrilled. “I made C-3PO’s eyes light up!”

“That looks amazing Peter,” Pepper says, fondly. Her pale eyes drift over to Toni. “Toni, I need your signatures on these deeds. Can you…?”

“Pass them over here,” Toni says, extending a hand to take the sheets, which Pepper hands over carefully, along with a pen.

Balancing Peter carefully on one thigh, she smooths out the sheets along the other, reading over them quickly.

“I don’t like these amounts,” she murmurs after a moment.

“I’m sorry?” Pepper says, hesitantly.

“I thought we were shipping at least twice this amount from the warehouse,” she says, a little irritated. “Why… why did it drop?”

“I don’t…” Pepper says, flustered. “Can I see that?”

Toni hands her back the deed, so Pepper can scan it herself. Her face changes, like a cloud covering the sun.

“That’s strange, I thought it was twice the amount too,” Pepper muses. Her shoulders straighten. “I’ll go and figure out what happened,” she tells her, firmly.

Toni offers her a smile. “Thanks for that, Pep.”

“No problem. Bye, Peter!”

“Bye!” Peter calls out to her, without even taking his eyes off C-3PO.

Pepper leaves the room and the door slides closes behind her, turning pitch black again, and Toni turns her attention back to her son.

“So, if we twist this screw here, see how firm the plating becomes,” she murmurs, putting the screwdriver in Peter’s hand, her fingers curled around his thin wrist, helping him to turn it.

“Miss Antonia?”

Toni looks up from the robot. “Yeah, J?”

“We have a situation.”

Toni frowns, her brow creasing in concern. “What sort of situation?” she asks, carefully.

“A Code Black.”

Tension gathers in her body. “Okay,” she breathes.

“ _Amma_?” Peter says, worriedly, nudging his head just under her chin, peering up at her with those eyes, almost black, just like hers, under those dark, long lashes. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

Toni stands, pulling Peter to his feet bodily.

“ _Amma_?”

“Where is the situation, J?” Toni asks, instead, mouth drawing downward in a frown.

“In the lobby, Miss Antonia. Would you like a feed?”

“Yes,” Toni says, eyeing Peter carefully. “But wait a minute.” She crouches down in front of Peter, planting her hands on his shoulders. “Okay, _kannu_ , we are going to play a little game. Do you want to play a little game?”

“No,” he says, stubbornly. “I want to work on C-3PO.”

_Damn._

“Baby, I really need you to do this for me. I need you to be a big boy, and do what I tell you right now, because this is important. How about that?” she coaxes, sweet and trusting.

Peter scuffs his foot against the ground and says, “fine,” sullenly.

“Okay, good, I need you to go into the coat closet and hide; can you do that for me?” she says, gently, brushing her fingers through his hair.

“Like Halloween?” Peter asks, curiously.

“Man, I really shouldn’t have let you watch that movie,” she mutters under her breath. She smiles, then, her mother’s smile, the smile that says _everything’s going to be fine because I’m right here and I’m not going to let anything happen to you_.

It’s a lie, the lie that all mothers tell their children, because no one can protect anyone from the monsters in this world.

She just wished that Peter was a little older before he learned that lesson, before he lost all faith in her.

But that doesn’t mean she won’t go to war, she won’t fight to the death to protect Peter from anything that comes through that door.

Let that be the last thing he sees of her, if she’s going to die today.

“Just like Halloween,” she agrees.

“But Michael Myers got Laurie,” Peter complains, wringing his hands together in a fit of anxiety.

“That’s not going to happen here,” Toni says, fiercely, almost mutinous at the thought. “No one’s going to get you, not while I’m still around. What is _amma_?”

Peter sighs. “ _Amma_ ’s a dragon,” he says, in a small voice. “And she has sharp teeth, which bite back.”

Toni pulls him in close against her hip and leans down pressing her mouth to his hair. “Can you be my brave boy?” she asks.

Peter nods against her hip. “I can be brave, _amma_.”

“Okay, I need you to be brave and go and hide in the closet. Don’t come out until I say the special word. Can you do that for me?”

Peter nods again. “I can do that.”

“Okay, the special word is _fractal holographic matrix_. Repeat that for me.”

“Fractal holographic matrix,” Peter repeats, dutifully, not stumbling over a single syllable.

“Good boy,” she says, fiercely, pressing her mouth against his hair, memorising the weight of him in her arms. “That’s my good boy. Okay, go, now.”

“Okay, _Amma_ ,” Peter says, lower lip quivering.

But he’s brave, her boy, and he runs to the closet, and shuts it behind him, casting her one last teary look before she can’t see him anymore.

She closes his eyes, sees him behind her eyes, and then curls her fingers around the edge of her table, taking a deep, steadying breath.

“Okay, J, where’s the Code Black?”

“Still In the lobby, Miss Antonia,” JARVIS explains.

A screen flickers to life in the middle of the room, showing surveillance footage from the lobby, where a man stands, a bomb strapped to his chest, screaming at the receptionist who cowers, her face streaked with tears and her make-up already running.

“Put communications through,” Toni orders.

JARVIS hesitates for an agonising moment. “Miss Antonia, I do not think that is-”

“JARVIS,” Toni says, sternly, in her mother’s voice. “Put communications through.”

“Very well,” JARVIS says, grudgingly.

Toni leans forward, peering at the man with the bomb strapped to his chest. “I’m guessing you’re here for me,” she says, lazily, tilting her head back to expose the long, lean line of her throat.

The man swings his head back and forth, trying to find the source of the sound. “Who are you? Where’s this coming from?” he demands, his brow damp with sweat.

“I’m Toni Stark,” Toni replies, her honeyed mask cracking instantly. “And you’re the douchebag that has a bomb strapped to his chest on _my_ company premises.”

“Stark,” the man snarls, baring his teeth to no one in particular. “Stark, where are you? I’ve got something for you.”

Toni sighs. “If you say it’s your penis, I will not be impressed.”

“You _bitch_ ; where are you, you bitch?” the man demands, going from zero to three sixty in a single instant.

“I’m in my office,” Toni says, leaning back against the table. “Why don’t you come up here, air out whatever dumb grievances you have against me, and leave all those poor people alone? I think you’ve terrified them enough, especially Marcia. She’s just trying to do her job, and you’re being a dick.”

“How the fuck do I get up there?”

“Just calm down, and I’ll get you up here. Stop terrorising my employees, and face me like a man,” she coaxes, playing on his ego. “Unless, of course, you aren’t one and that pencil dick between your legs isn’t something you want to brag about.”

“You bitch,” the man snarls again, practically frothing at the mouth.

She wonders if she’s doing the wrong thing, baiting him, challenging him, insulting him; what if he snaps, what if he attacks, what if he starts shooting up the place because his ego is fragile and needs to be soothed and petted, because boys like that never grew up, never realised that the world didn’t cater to their every whim on occasion, and that there were others in the world who had it way worse than they ever could.

“That’s exactly what I am,” she says, easily. “A bitch; now, why don’t you come up and face me?” she tells him, coldly. “The elevator will open; take it to the seventy-fifth floor.”

She closes down the communication line between her and the lobby and watches the footage of the surveillance camera, keenly.

“J, open the elevator,” she orders.

“Miss Antonia, that is completely in breach of Code Black protocols,” JARVIS protests.

“I told you what to do,” she says, her voice sharp and biting.

She stops for a moment, hearing nothing but silence from the coat closet that Peter hides in – it both terrifies her and soothes her.

 _He won’t find him_ , she reassures herself. _He’ll kill me and he’ll get on with his day, and Peter will be safe. That’s all that matters._

“Very well,” JARVIS says, terribly upset and resigned.

She watches as the lift doors open to the right of the armed man, who’s shifting uneasily and frustrated on his feet back and forth, and he startles, slipping inside the elevator with the loom and lope of a man with practice.

Her phone rings, shrilly.

“Answer it,” she says, tiredly, knowing exactly who would be on the other end.

“Toni!” Pepper shouts, abandoning all decorum, high and thin. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

“Pepper, there’s a lift door that’s going to open just outside your office,” Toni says, patiently, ignoring Pepper’s question. “Get inside, get to the lobby, and get everyone out of there.”

“Toni, what are you doing?” Pepper demands, piercing and anxious. “Toni, don’t do this. What about-”

“Peter is in the coat closet,” Toni whispers in a rush, feeling the stinging bite of shame. “He’s hiding. He knows not to come out unless I say the safeword.”

“Toni,” Pepper says, her voice gentling, like tears are coming to her eyes. “Toni, don’t do this.”

“Peter will be safe.”

She has to believe that; she has to believe that at the end of all of this, Peter will be safe, he’ll live.

“Peter will be safe. The safeword is _fractal holographic matrix_ ,” she advises. “Pepper, just… when it’s done, don’t let him see it, don’t let him see _me_ like… that, okay?”

“Toni, don’t do this.” Pepper is now outright crying.

“He’s not going to leave me alive,” Toni says, wearily. “Just… please protect Peter. I don’t trust many people, but I trust you and Rhodey. You’re the only ones I trust with him. Thank you for everything.”

She switches off the call and turns her attention back to the surveillance footage, just as the man with the bomb steps out of the elevator.

“Where do I go now?” he asks, looking from side to side, with the sort of cagey agitation as an animal trussed up tight and beaten black and blue.

“Come down the corridor,” she says, patiently.

God, she’s such a fucking terrible mother, isn’t she?

“You’ll be able to see me,” she advises. “The walls are transparent.”

She switches off the opaque setting, with a tap of her finger, and lets the nervous knot in her belly grow, until it’s swelling like a bruise throughout her body and closing her throat up with panic.

If she’s about to die, she deserves to feel like this, to let that steel mercurial composure of hers slip just for a moment, before she meets her death.

Her breath comes out high and rasping, her fingers curling around the edge of the table like claws, and then, she sees him.

He’s not so terrible when she finally gets a look at him. He’s short and dark-haired, with a scruffy beard. He’s got a bit of a belly, rounded at the hips and the front, and she can see the weight of the bomb strapped to his chest, the detonator in his hand.

She recognises his face the moment she sees it.

“Kearson DeWitt,” she says, her eyes sharp, narrow. “Well, look at you; how are you doing?”

He scowls absolute murder as he steps over the threshold into her office.

“You have some nerve, talking to me like we’re friends after all the shit you’ve pulled,” he growls at her.

Toni lifts a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “What, you mean after you used _my_ company’s resources, _my_ employees, _my_ facility and _my_ fucking name to build some mega death ray right under _my_ nose. Oh, I’m so sorry if I offended you by heaving your ass away from anything that remotely involved me or mine,” she says, dryly.

DeWitt starts frothing at the mouth all over again. “You bitch,” he says, like he hasn’t already said it half a hundred times before. “Like you have any fucking right to look down your nose at me. You… you inherited all of this, you never worked for it. Your father was stupid enough to leave it all to you, some socialite cunt who was too fucking soft to do what needed to be done.”

“What, killing communities upon communities of people is what needed to be done?” Toni says, with a soft, mocking lilt. “We make weapons, sweetheart; that doesn’t mean we have to enable people to be self-aggrandising, genocidal fascists, though.”

He sneers at her, eyes latched onto her throat and the swell of her breasts visible through her blouse. “Of course, _you’d_ say something like that. I don’t need to hear the history of morality from some fucking curry-muncher and terrorist twice over. How’s Al-Qaeda doing, you fucking jihadi?”

Toni lets herself smile, sharp as a knife. “I’m Hindu, not Muslim, not that it matters to racist, bigoted troglodytes like you, and even if I was… the terrorist here is _you_ , not me. I’m not the one who walked into a workplace in the middle of New York with a bomb strapped to my chest; I’m not the one that wanted to build a machine that would destroy villages and villages because it suited my limp dick sensibilities. I am not _ashamed_ of what I am, what I believe in, the _gods_ I believe in. You, on the other hand, you should be ashamed, you should be ashamed of the _shit_ that comes out of your mouth, the ease with which you terrorise innocent people, you miserable fucking-”

She grunts when he lunges across the room, his big, meaty hand knotting in her hair, tight against her scalp, and wrenches her out of her chair and onto the floor.

“You think you’re so much better than all of us, don’t you?” he snarls down at her, spitting in her face, until her face is curdling in disgust. “Well, guess what, you’re not. You’re just some uppity, prissy cunt, walking around like we all exist to serve you, like we should bow down and scrape so Her Majesty can feel strong and powerful. You’re not, you’re not fucking powerful, you’re just lucky. You’re some lucky bitch that got born into a rich family and inherited all of this when your father popped his clogs, God rest his soul. Because he would’ve looked at all the shit you’ve done, all the changes you’ve made, and cursed the fuck out of you. You turned one of America’s greatest institutions into a fucking joke because you’re too soft for this line of work, and you stopped all the people who actually _were_ capable of doing this work, because you couldn’t accept the purpose of your fucking existence.”

“And what is that exactly?” she says, pertly, raising her eyes defiantly.

“To keep your goddamn mouth shut,” he tells her, the blood hot in his face. “To accept your fucking place in this universe. The only thing you’re good for is to wrap that hot little body around my cock.”

He looms over her, a threatening shade, and the panic curls in her chest, cloying and thick, and her fingers fist in the carpet, holding her head up taut, watching him carefully.

Just when he leans back, she kicks out, the heel of her shoe catching him on the inside of his knee and buckling his legs, but his grip on her hair is too strong, and suddenly he’s on top of her, pinning her down, heavy, sweaty weight between her legs, on her chest, making it hard for her to breathe.

“I thought about this so many times,” he breathes in her ear, hot and wet, and he licks her skin. “Every time you looked down your nose at me, I thought about grabbing you by the hair, shoving you down to your knees, where you belong, and making you choke on my cock. Do you have any idea what you did to me, you bitch?” he demands, his fingers clawing deep into her skin and making her wince.

“I’m sure whatever I did, you totally deserve it, and I’m sure you don’t feel that way at all,” she says, dryly, struggling fiercely.

She manages to knee him in the crotch and crawl away, but he’s too heavy and he gets a lucky shot with all of his meat sweat, his hand circling around her ankle and yanking her bag like she’s a fucking sack of potatoes. She grunts again, when his hands wrap around her throat and start squeezing.

Her lungs start burning and she reaches out, helplessly, desperately, with her hands, her nails gouging long, bloody lines in his face, as she tries to carve his eyes out.

Her vision blurs and turns to dark spots, and she’s gasping and rasping, and her chest is burning and she can’t breathe, _she can’t breathe_.

And then, there’s a bang, and the hands around her throat loosen, and there’s blood, coating her nose and mouth and throat like a deluge, the taste of iron on her teeth, and when her vision sets, clears, DeWitt is still on top of her, and half of his head is missing, showing the grey-pink pulpy insides of his brain and the bare, cracked bone of his skull. Half his eye is hanging out of his socket and his mouth is ripped open like someone had gone at it with a fishhook, and she sees all of his insides, the flesh and the tissue and organs, and she wheezes, her stomach roiling, and she’s scrabbling away.

“Toni, Toni, it’s okay! Toni!”

There are hands on her, heavy hands, big, deft hands, and there are others, pulling DeWitt off her, and she’s shouting, she thinks, or at least making some screeching, distorted sound like a squealing pig that gets sliced open for the slaughter, and she’s scrabbling away, when the weight is off her, scrabbling and clawing at the floor, because all she can see is what is left of DeWitt’s face, the eye hanging out of his socket, the brain matter, squishy and pulpy and pink, his mouth hanging open loosely, the blood splatter on his face, on her throat and her mouth, and oh, God, she can taste the iron, the red, _oh, God._

“Toni!” someone’s shouting at her, a warm, solid chest at her back. “Toni, it’s okay, Toni. He’s dead. You’re safe now, you’re _safe_.”

She looks up, her eyes damp and hot and unseeing, the sound of her heartbeat in her ears, and then, she sees.

“Bucky?” she says, incredulously, cutting right through the haze, the hot, itching swell of panic. “Fractal holographic matrix! Fractal holographic matrix!” she screams at the top of her lungs.

Bucky stares down at her, his brow furrowed. “What?”

The closet cupboard opens, and Peter hurtles out, a bright blur, and he hits her arms like stone, dragging the air from her lungs, and sobbing into her shoulder.

She smooths a hand over his hair, pushes him away from her for just an instant, where she skates her hands over his little body, making sure he isn’t injured, noting his red eyes, his quivering mouth, the way he sniffles.

“ _Amma_ ,” he sobs, throwing himself back into her arms and climbing into her lap. “ _Amma_ , I was so scared.”

“I know, I know,” Toni soothes, pressing her lips to his hairline. “It’s okay, it’s okay, though. We’re safe now. We _are_.”

“What about the bad man?” Peter asks, terrified. “I heard you, I heard him, and he was saying all of these mean things about you, and I heard noises too. Were you fighting him?”

Toni’s smile is forcefully taut. “I was, baby. I was. He’s gone now, okay, like in the stories; the villains go bye-bye. He’s not gonna come near us again.”

“You promise?” Peter asks, almost accusingly.

Toni’s heart wrenches in her chest (a shit mother, she’s a shit mother). “Yeah, I promise.”

 _I would burn the world to the ground to keep you safe, Peter,_ she thinks.

He curls up in her arms, head on her shoulder, and suddenly, she can breathe again; she can see again, her vision turning sharp, and her eyes land on Bucky, who just stares at her, unfathomably, his eyes then pulling towards Peter like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

Toni scowls, as if on instinct, and tightens her arms around Peter’s shaking body.

He recovers, quite quickly, baring the razor line of his teeth in a bright smile. “Yeah, doll, it’s me. You’re safe now; we got you,” he soothes, like nothing’s changed, like nothing could change.

Everything’s changed, and the little heart pressed against her own is proof enough of that.

Peter lifts his head, hearing the new voice. “Who are you?” he demands.

Bucky clears his throat and offers his hand. “Hey, little man, the name’s Bucky. I’m an old friend of your mum’s.”

Peter narrows his eyes. “She’s never mentioned you before,” he accuses.

Bucky laughs a little. “Yeah, I bet she hasn’t,” he says.

“Did you help my _amma_ fight the bad man?” Peter asks, curiously, tilting his head.

“I did,” Bucky says, slowly. “I did. Your mum was great, she was really great.”

His finger itches on his thigh, making a scrabbling sort of motion, like he’s about to knot it in her hair, and despite herself, despite everything she knows and believes, she wonders if she’d lean into the touch.

“A real superhero.”

She looks up, only to meet blue eyes like a summer storm and a head of golden hair, a rifle slung over his shoulder, and Steve kneels in front of her and Peter.

“You’re not hurt?” he asks, brow creased in concern. “Both of you?”

Peter nods. “We’re okay,” he says, bravely. “Who are you?”

“I’m Steve,” Steve answers, almost immediately. “We tried to get up here as soon as possible, but then your assistant, uh…” he frowns. “Shit, I forgot her name-” he curses under her breath.

Toni makes a disapproving, disgusted noise under her breath, nudging her head purposefully towards Peter.

Surprisingly, it’s Peter who takes the direction. “That’s a bad word,” he tells Steve, solemnly. “Only _Amma_ can say it.”

Steve grins, fleetingly. “My apologies, then,” he teases, winking at Peter, who flushes and hides his face in Toni’s neck.

“My assistant’s name is Pepper,” Toni says, sharply, cutting through the soft scene before you ( _you have already taken too much, Steve Rogers, you don’t get to take this, you don’t get to touch this, touch Peter, he’s mine, all mine_ ). “What are _you_ doing here, both of you?” she asks, a suspicious edge to her voice.

“Pepper,” Steve says, delighted that he knows the answer. “That’s what it was. But you’re not hurt?”

Toni’s throat flexes, noting each of the injuries on her body. Her scalp hurts from where he’d dragged her out of her chair. _Oh_ , and it hurts to breathe – she just realises that.

 _No,_ Peter doesn’t need to worry about her right now.

She opens her mouth to say that there’s nothing wrong, that neither of them are hurt, and her throat burns instead, like there’s sandpaper running down soft, sensitive tissue, and something wet at the back of her throat rises, like blood, _oh, God_ , it’s probably blood.

“My throat,” she says, unwillingly, and it comes out as a rasp, a choking, pained rasp.

Peter pulls away to look at her, worriedly.

She offers a smile for him, with teeth, her lips stretching wide, just to comfort him, holding out her arms, so that he can cuddle her.

“Are you okay, _amma_?” he asks, in a small voice.

“I’m good, baby,” she mumbles. “As long as I’ve got you with me, what else would I need?”

“Are you hurt? Did the bad man hurt you?” Peter asks, concerned.

“He did, but I’m going to be just fine,” she says, her throat aching when she tries to swallow.

When she looks over, the lines in Steve’s face are unbearably soft, and one of those big, deft hands of his (strange, she remembers the thin, lean fingers he’d had when she’d known him, like he was made of bird bones; a pang of regret overtakes her, until she remembers, she viciously remembers, and she bats it away like an unwanted insect) touches her throat.

She winces.

“Bruises,” he says, voice stern and clipped. He looks over the top of her head to Bucky. “We should probably get Sam to take a look at her. Looks like he did a number on her.”

Toni looks up just in enough time to see Bucky nod, squaring his shoulders. “Yeah, good idea.”

“ _Who_ is Sam?” she demands, her mouth thinning to a hard line. “ _Where_ did you come from? _Why_ are you here? _What is going on here_?” she hisses, congratulating herself for not using the word _fuck_ once.

“Toni,” Steve soothes, hand tightening on her knee. “We can explain everything. I’m sure you have a lot of questions. We’ll answer everything, but right now, we just need to get you out of here, get you _both_ out of here.”

“But _why_?”

“Because-”

Before Toni can even finish the rest of her sentence, the burning in her throat becomes impossible to bear. She hangs on as best as she can, citing childbirth as a trial she’s been through and come out alive, but after a while, she has to give up. Peter places his small hands on her cheeks and he’s nudging his nose against her and he’s shouting, just as black spots appear in her vision, and then, it becomes a single colour, pressing in on every side, and she falls limp.


	3. iii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This satisfies the "stockings" square (E4) of the Ladies of Marvel Bingo 2019-2020.

When Toni wakes up next, there are bandages around her throat.

She knows this, because she can feel some strange, cottony restriction around her trachea, and it still hurts to breathe. Her hands raise, and her fingertips brush against the bandage, and tries to breathe, tries to lie there and breathe.

She doesn’t recognise the ceiling above her. There’s a ceiling fan that spins over and over and over again, and she finds her vision tunnelling.

She groans.

“Woah, are you okay?”

Panic claws into her throat, making it spasm with pain, and she lifts her head as best as she could.

There’s a man standing beside the door, with blonde hair, a strong jaw, and in a sleeveless shirt that showcases his tremendous biceps.

“Who are you?” she rasps, clenching her hand tight in the sheets below her. “Where are we?”

“You should… uh, I should probably grab someone to come and talk to you,” the man hedges.

With a grunt of effort, she lifts herself to her hip, turning her head and seeing nothing but an empty room but for her and the man. Her mouth twists in displeasure, and she fixes the man in the corner with a dark look.

“Where’s my son?” she asks, calmly.

“Uh, I should _really_ grab someone to come and talk to you,” the man says, pressing his back against the wall.

She slips off the bed, and her stockings rip, right down the line of the calf, holding onto the headboard as hard as possible to keep her on her feet.

“Where’s my _son_?” she repeats, her voice lowering, darkening.

“I don’t-”

“Where the _fuck_ is my son?” she asks, coldly, her voice hollow.

“Listen, Toni, is it? I can’t really-”

There’s a lamp on the bedside table, an old one that’s made in glass and wrought-iron set in old gold, and she picks it up, balancing it between both of her hands, testing the weight.

It’s heavy, to say the least.

“You see this, right here?” she asks, lightly.

The man nods, warily.

“I will beat the shit out of you with this until you’re nothing more than just… bone and blood on the fucking floor if you don’t take me to see my son right the fuck now.”

“Lady, will you please just-”

“Lady?” Toni snaps, her cheeks colouring. “Oh, now, I really want to bash your skull in with this fucking lamp.”

“Amma?”

The door opens with a great clamour, banging against the wall, and making both her and the strange man jump five feet in the hair.

“Peter,” Toni says, and the breath rushes out of her. “Oh, Peter!”

Peter runs up to her, tiny little hand fisting in her jeans and tugging, and then, he holds his hands up in the air, fists uncurling and curling.

Toni lifts him up into her arms so he can tuck his face against her neck. “Hi, baby,” she says, softly, relief washing over her like a most addictive drug.

“Amma, I was playing with Bucky!”

Toni looks over his shoulder at the other figure that looms in the doorway. She looks at him, properly, now, as she hadn’t back in her office after a man had literally tried to blow her up in order to kill her.

He’s taller than she remembers him, with that dark hair that reaches his shoulders, where it had only ever been short in high school, in that windswept, jock-like way that she’d loved running her fingers through; now, it’s long enough for him to tie at the back of his neck in a bun. He was lean as well, back then, firm enough to be a jock, but lean and sinewy; now, he’s broad, missing an arm, but his shoulders are wide, and his thighs are thick and his stomach, well, she wonders if she’d lick his abs like she used to when they were teenagers.

Not that she has any intention of licking his abs; no, if she touches him, it’ll be to burn him to the ground because he and Steve and their stupid fucking crew have effectively kidnapped her and her son, and she hates that, she fucking hates that.

“Is that so?” she says, lightly.

“Uh-huh,” Peter replies, nodding his head and playing with one of her earrings. “We were playing _What’s the Time, Mr Wolf_. Bucky’s a really good wolf; he’s really quick.”

Toni’s throat flexes. “I’ll bet.”

“I wouldn’t sell yourself short, kid,” Bucky pipes in. “You’ve got great reflexes.”

Peter knots a finger or two in Toni’s hair, winding it around and around. “Yeah?” he asks, shyly, his heart in his eyes.

Toni fixes Bucky with a look. If he says anything, _anything_ , that upsets Peter, she’ll bash his skull in with the lamp, she promises herself.

“Are you feeling okay now, _Amma_?” Peter asks, worriedly. “Bucky said you weren’t feeling well.”

Toni forces herself to smile down at him. “I’m fine, I wasn’t for a bit, but I’m really good now, baby, now that I’ve got you.”

Peter hugs her tight, winds his arms around her neck and clutches at her.

She hugs him back, hand pressed against his spine, and she looks over his shoulder at Bucky, at the man who’s still hovering in the corner, unsure of where to look.

She then covers his ears, so Peter won’t have to hear what she has to say.

“You don’t do that,” she says, a dangerous edge to her voice. “You don’t do that, you don’t ever _keep_ me from my son, you don’t not _tell_ me where my son is when I ask. You don’t have that right, so you don’t _do_ that. Do you understand me?”

Bucky looks as though she’s struck him across the face. “Toni-”

“This isn’t high school,” she says, stonily. “This isn’t…” she takes a deep breath. “I am not rehashing any of this; it’s completely irrelevant, and I am not interested. Show me to the door, and we’ll be on our way.”

“We can’t do that.”

Toni looks over Bucky’s shoulder to see Steve. “Why not?” she demands.

“Because, Toni, we think you and your son are in danger,” Steve says, calmly.

“What are you… what are you talking about?” Toni asks, confused. “If this is about the guy with the bomb, that’s just… par for the course. He was a bitter ex-employee that didn’t like it when I took his genocidal toy away, and he decided to get back at me for it. It’s not anything special; I deal with it all the time.”

Steve and Bucky’s jaws both clench, like they don’t like that, like they don’t like the idea of her being unsafe, faced with people trying to hurt her just because she was doing what needed to be done.

Toni scowls in response – they lost that right; they lost that right a long time ago.

She is a monument now; they can’t touch her.

“No, Toni,” Steve says, patiently, mustering a smile for her. “It’s not just par for the course. Look, let’s just talk about it, huh? I’m sure you and the little guy are starving. Let’s have some food, and we can explain everything.”

“I don’t want to spend more time with you two than I have to,” Toni says, high and thin, her skin crawling quietly at their proximity.

They flinch, and it’s like a blow.

It shouldn’t be a blow.

It’s ridiculous, actually, that they should affect her this much, these men that had broken her heart so effectively, so perfectly, when it had been years since she’d seen them; she’d lived a whole life since they’d last turned their backs on her, married and made a home and had a son and become a widow and an orphan; she’d lived a life, so why would two ex-love interests of her cause her to react so strongly?

Toni stares down at the little body in her arms, the one who’s glaring at her for still covering his ears, and her lungs and her heart fill with something so thick that she feels like she’s about to burst.

All the worry, the anxiety, the stress fades, and all she sees is his eyes.

She removes her hands.

“That was not fair, amma,” Peter huffs.

“I’m sorry, baby. You know, sometimes, there are things that little boys aren’t meant to hear, and that’s why I do that,” she says, softly.

“I’m not _little_ ; I’m _four_ ,” Peter tells her, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re always going to be my little boy,” Toni murmurs. “Are you hungry, baby?”

Peter nods, solemnly.

Toni closes her eyes and wishes, for once in her life, that Peter would have said no.

She bites her lower lip and looks up at Steve and Bucky.

“Food,” Toni says, clearly. “And then, we’re leaving.”

* * *

“Pasta, with pesto and sundried tomato and plenty of cheese, just the way you like it,” Bucky says, laying a plate out for her. “Will Peter… uh, will he…?” he asks, trailing off when he’s unsure of how to finish the question.

“He’ll eat from my plate,” Toni answers, immediately. “Does that sound okay, baby?”

Peter has already picked up the fork in his small hand and spooned a fresh helping of pasta between the prongs, his tongue between his teeth, and lifted it to his mouth. “Yeah, amma.”

She watches him for a moment, making sure he’s not going to spill anything, and waiting until the entire mouthful is actually in his mouth and not down his shirt or in his lap or anything.

And then, Peter, so effortlessly polite, hands her the fork, so she can eat some of it herself. It hits all the spots in her that needed hitting, and goosebumps rise across her skin, and she resists the urge to moan in response at the taste.

“You remembered,” she says, clearing her throat.

“Vegetarian, no eggs,” Bucky says, shrugging. “It wasn’t that hard to remember.”

Toni’s lip curls, sharply. “Why don’t you go with that explanation you were saving for this meal?”

“Do you have any questions for us?” Steve asks, curiously.

“Who’s the guy?” Toni says, quickly. “The guy who was in my room, so I know the name of the guy I want to punch in the face for keeping me from my son.”

“Oh, that’s Clint. He’s a… well, he works for us, let’s just say,” Steve hedges.

“He works for you?” Toni lifts an eyebrow. “What are you… what do you guys do? Are you like a private security firm?”

Bucky and Steve exchange a look she can’t read.

“Not quite,” Bucky says, clearing his throat.

“Okay, can we stop with the non-answers?” Toni says, coldly. “I’m really not okay with them.”

“Okay, fine,” Steve says, frustrated. “Clint is one of our enforcers. He’s not a bad guy. He’s just… he was just doing as he was told. You were hurt. You needed peace and quiet, which you are obviously not getting, and we just wanted to spare you some of the-”

“My son is not a burden,” Toni says, sternly. “Even if I’m dying of cancer, even if I’m bleeding out on the ground, it’s my job to take care of him first, and then myself, second. So, don’t sit there and act like you were _doing_ anything for my benefit-”

“Look, Toni, you’re angry at us, I get it, but don’t just think-”

“And don’t think I forgot about the fact that you said _enforcer_ ,” she hisses. She takes a slow, steadying breath, hand curling around the edge of the table. “Why don’t you explain to me what you were doing at Stark Industries today?”

Bucky exhales. “Look, we got a tip that something was going to happen today at your office. We got concerned, so we sent a couple of guys out there. They informed us when the man with a bomb entered the lobby-”

“DeWitt,” Toni says, immediately. “That’s his name: Kearson DeWitt.”

Steve leans forward. “Why did he come in with a bomb?”

Toni looks at Peter, uncertainly. “I fired him, a couple of months ago. There was… he was using company resources to build… well, essentially a death ray. I fired him because that’s not what Stark Industries does, we don’t just… we’re not aides to genocide, okay. So, I fired him, and this is how he decided to get back at me.”

“He got divorced a few months ago. Apparently, soon after you fired him, he decided to partake in the sauce a little too much. Couldn’t get a job anywhere else. Wife left and took the kids with her. Couldn’t afford a good lawyer, so she got pretty much everything in the divorce, took the kids itself. So, he decided to get back at you,” Bucky explains, fixing those pale blue-grey eyes of his on hers, sharper than she remembers, harder, with something uglier looming behind them.

“And what,” she says, before she can be too discomfited by the way he looks at her. “It’s my fault? I shouldn’t have sacked him?”

“No, that’s not what-”

Toni leans forward, grinding her teeth. “I can’t be held responsible for the stupid things that men do in this world because it’s suddenly beneath them to be fired by a woman. I gave him plenty of chances to fix his act while he worked for me. I told him to drop the death ray idea, and he didn’t listen to me. He continued to work on it, and he had the temerity to use my money while he did it. I have no regrets for what sacking him. I should’ve sacked him earlier. And it’s not my fault he was so weak that he decided to drown himself in a bottle rather than finding another job and doing right by his wife and kids. That’s not my fault. And I’m not taking the incompetence and inferiority of a man who just tried to violently murder me on _my_ head as a burden.”

Bucky sighs, leaning back and flicking his hand open. “That’s not what I was going to say at all. You know, I’d thought after all these years, you’d finally stop talking so much. I guess I was wrong.”

Toni finds the rage boiling over in her belly. “You did not just say that,” she grinds out, her fingers curling and uncurling around nothing.

The darkest part of her imagines those fingers of hers wrapping around his throat and squeezes.

Steve groans, hanging his head. “Bucky, please, don’t.”

“What, Steve, she’s acting like a brat-”

Toni chuckles, flatly. “You have some _nerve_ , after all of these years, after what you did to me, to be insulting me right now.”

“What _we_ did to you?” Bucky snaps, leaning forward. “How about what you did to us-”

Toni just stares at him, horrified, terrified, sick to the pit of her belly (the nerve of them, the fucking nerve of them to pretend like _they’re_ the victims in all of this), and then, she says, “I don’t know how I could have ever loved you.”

 _That’s a lie, I do know. I always love the people most wrong for me_ , she thinks, feeling cracked open, bloody and bare. _I always love the people who hurt me. You and Steve, then, Ty. You all hurt me, and I let you. I was stupid enough to fall for your handsome faces and your nice smiles and the nice things you said to me, and I opened myself up, I let all the walls down and you hurt me. You ruined me. You destroyed me._

She looks down at Peter, who’s devouring the pasta as best as he can, without even paying attention to the conversation between the adults at the table, and the rage, the sickness, it all melts away.

 _Not anymore,_ she thinks, resolutely. _If I let you destroy me again, Peter is the one who’ll suffer. I would die and I would kill everyone in this room before I let Peter suffer for anything._

When she looks back at Steve and Bucky, they’re looking at her as if they’ve never seen her before, their faces hollowed out, all the lines in their faces rigid.

“You said enforcer; you called that guy who was in my room an enforcer,” she says, coldly. “Enforcers are in mobs, aren’t they? What’s going on?”

Steve recovers first, while Bucky just stares at her, maudlin and pained.

“The Irish mob,” he says, meeting her eyes with his own, all the shades of blue in them. “A few years ago, my mother stepped down, and I took over.”

Toni lifts an eyebrow, her heart thudding speedily in her chest. “The _whole_ Irish mob?” she asks, sceptically, more dubious than anything.

Steve lifts his chin. “Yeah.”

Toni remembers Sarah Rogers, remembers her wheat-gold hair, the same shade of Steve’s, her round, pleasant face, the way she smiled with all of her teeth like she had nothing to hide, the way she never looked twice at the fact that Toni would show up at her apartment after school, arm in arm with her son and his best friend, and the three of them would sneak up to his room, under the guise of doing _homework_ , and not come down until she screamed at them that it was time for dinner.

Toni remembers Sarah Rogers; she doesn’t remember a mob boss.

Her throat flexes, and she turns to Bucky, who’s still staring at her, hard and reckless, eyes pale and fierce.

“And you? I’m guessing-”

“The Russians,” Bucky replies before she’s even finished getting the words out. “Through my mother as well.”

And that’s when it hits her.

“The list,” she says, nearly breathless. “The list, it was all you. That stupid list.”

Steve has the temerity to flush, the colour high in his cheeks, a splotchy red that was somehow still attractive.

“Look, we can explain-”

“I almost got mugged because of you,” she hisses, leaning forward.

“Actually,” Bucky interjects, cleanly. “You _didn’t_ get mugged because of us.”

“What the hell is this list?” Toni asks, half-desperate.

“It’s a list we made a while ago of people to be protected, people who weren’t to be touched. When Buck and I came into power, we wanted to do things differently; we wanted to be better to the community that we lived in. We wanted to do something for them. Not that Mum wasn’t good to the community, but she’s the one that raised us to think that we owed something back, not the other way around. So, we wanted to make sure that people would be protected out on the streets. We…”

Steve turns red, so red that it shows up like a tomato peel on his pale face.

“Uh, we might have engaged in some not-so-legal pursuits in making sure the denizens of Downtown wouldn’t make trouble for, you know, certain people. We didn’t think it was right that women looking for a shelter to escape some guy that hits them would have to put up with some asshole looking for drug money in the alley and willing to point a gun at an already scared woman for the money.”

“We also didn’t think it was right that kids had to be scared, looking over their shoulders, for some white van to come rolling along and snatch them up, when they were just trying to live their life,” Bucky interjects, firmly.

“So, you guys aren’t just the mob, but you’re a Good Samaritan mob?” Toni says, sceptically.

Bucky shrugs. “If that’s how you want to call us, sure,” he says, easily, shoving a forkful of pasta into his mouth, until there’s a line of oil along his lower lip, making it gleam in the light of the room.

“And that’s what… what you think of me?” Toni asks, pretending like she’s not affected. “Some scared woman wandering the streets at night with her son?”

Steve shakes his head. “Do you always have to take things the absolute worst way?” he demands, leaning forwards. “Can’t you just believe that we did something because we were concerned about your welfare when you were down in our area, and we just wanted to make sure you were safe?”

 _I don’t believe anything that comes out of your mouth,_ she wants to say, but thinks it might be too cruel to say at the dinner table.

“Is it… is it my _name_ , or do I fit into some category?” Toni asks, clearly.

“It’s your name,” Bucky tells her.

Toni nods, accepting that, swallowing it down – she fluctuates between warmth and gut-wrenching disbelief, the tension between the fact that they’d thought of her, after however many years that they hadn’t seen each other, wanted her protected and safe, and the fact that they hadn’t care about her once, had turned their backs on her like she didn’t mean anything at all, and yes, they were teenagers, yes, they were young, but girls like her, girls who grow up smart and not loved well and treated like shit don’t love at seventeen unless they intend to stay with that person for perhaps the rest of their life, so now, after hurting her and destroying her self-worth and self-image and everything she ever thought about herself and them and what the world was like, she didn’t understand where she fit on that list of theirs, why her name was even warranted in the first place.

They didn’t care about her when they were seventeen.

Why had her name even come up now?

“Why?”

“We just wanted you to be safe; is that really a bad thing?” Bucky asks, quietly.

Toni clears her throat and looks away.

_It is, it is, you can’t look at me like that, you can’t think of me like that._

“Did you know about… all of this mob stuff when we were…” she takes a deep, steadying breath, her gut clenching and unclenching. “In _high school_ ,” she grits out. “Did you know this?”

Steve and Bucky exchange a look.

“We did,” Steve answers, cautiously.

“And you didn’t tell me?” Toni asks, a strange tightness in her chest.

“Toni,” Bucky sighs. “Toni, it’s a little more complicated than that-”

And then, it all falls away, the strange tightness, the gut clench, all of it falls away, because she remembers, in stunning technicolour, the sight of them walking away from her, refusing to answer any of her questions, refusing to even look at her in the eye, as she begs and pleads and abandons all dignity and asks and prays for them to love her, to keep loving her, to stay with her, to never leave her.

“It doesn’t matter, I suppose,” she exhales. “It doesn’t matter,” she says, like she needs to believe it herself.

She shouldn’t be surprised; surprised is the last thing she should feel right now.

It’s not like secret keeping was the worst thing that happened in their relationship.

“I don’t care,” she says, pale and numb.

She turns her head and sees Peter still devouring the plate of pasta, completely ignorant to the conversation happening around him.

She remembers that night in the hospital, when she pushed and pushed and screamed, and the doctors pulled out a squalling, screeching baby out from between her thighs, covered in blood, and they gave the baby to her, to curl up in her arms, against her breast, and they let her cut the cord, because Ty wasn’t there for it, and she’d tried for so long to keep him inside her, to deny the pressure against her cunt, as Peter was ready to come out, because she wanted Ty there with her.

She remembers when he opened his eyes, his eyes so like hers, and looked up at her, and yawned, and she fell in love, she fell so in love that she thought her heart and her lungs would burst full with the feeling. She fell in love when he knocked his little fist against the curve of her breast, when his mouth closed around her nipple and he drank for the first time, the sweet-painful sensation of breastfeeding.

She remembers when he first called her _amma_ , when he used those little legs to run across to room into her arms, when he picked up his first screwdriver, a little engineer in the mechanic, the way he sticks his tongue out when he’s thinking or focusing on something, the first time he lost a tooth, all the times she read him a story and all the times he crawled into her empty bed when he had a nightmare, because it wasn’t like Ty was ever there to pick up the slack, and then, he was dead and it was only her and Peter.

Her and Peter.

She was content, wasn’t she, before today?

They’ve turned her upside down, as she always knew they would, but she has Peter, and Peter has her, and there is nothing else in this world that she needs.

“I don’t care,” she repeats, almost sharp and savage. “I just wanted to know why I was on that list, and now I know. Why were you there at Stark Industries today?”

Steve sighs and shifts on his seat. “Look, you’re not going to like this-”

“Oh, I had that feeling a long time ago,” Toni mutters under her breath.

“We’ve been watching you for a while now, a couple of weeks,” Bucky says, without flinching, without even hesitating just for a second.

For a brief moment, Toni forgets how her lungs work.

“Excuse me?” she says, keeping her voice light.

“We’ve been keeping guys on your tail for a couple of weeks now,” Bucky says, slowly.

“You’ve been watching me,” Toni says, flatly, her hands tightening around the edge of the table. “You’ve been sending people _after_ me? Do you realise how freakish that sounds? Do you realise that you’re bordering on stalking and a ton of breaches of privacy laws, right here?” she hisses.

“Look, you have every right to be angry-”

“Oh, I do,” Toni mocks, pretending to be grateful. “Thank you so much, Steve. I very much appreciate having your permission.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Steve argues.

“You had people watching me, spying on me.” Toni flings a careful look at Peter. “You had no right,” she says, ugly and quiet, her teeth grinding together. “You had no fucking right. You had no right to spy on me.”

“You were in danger,” Steve snaps. “We were trying to protect you.”

“In danger? In danger from what?” Toni says, incredulously.

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you forgetting the crazy man with a bomb strapped to your chest that broke into your company and assaulted you?” Steve retorts.

“That was… that was a one-off thing. It was the revenge fantasy of a sad, pathetic little man who couldn’t deal with a woman daring to exert power of him, couldn’t deal with the consequences of the decisions that he made that royally screwed over his life, because people couldn’t put up with his pathetic-ness anymore. That’s all it was. There was no grand plan. There was no conspiracy. It was a one-off thing. It was hardly the first time someone has tried to kill me because they disapproved of something that I did or Stark Industries did.”

Bucky taps his fingers against the table. “What if…” he eyes Steve, carefully, exhaling. “What if we told you that it wasn’t one-off?”

Toni barely keeps the surprise off her face. “Excuse me?”

“What if we told you it wasn’t a one-off thing, DeWitt attacking Stark Industries? What if we told you that there was more going on, that there was some sort of conspiracy?” Bucky asks, carefully.

“Then, I’d be wondering if drugs are a part of your mob business, and you both have been partaking in your own wares,” Toni sneers.

“Can you not?” Steve asks, frustrated. “We’re trying to be serious over here.”

“You’re trying to peddle some crazy conspiracy theory to me,” Toni corrects. “And I’m not having it.”

“Look,” Steve says, sternly. “We got word that there were some people trying to buy parts for some heavy artillery – bombs and shit like that. We blocked their supply for the parts as best as we could, but there are small-time gangsters, and arms dealing is very popular in New York, especially the black-market stuff.”

“DeWitt was one of those customers?” Toni asks, quietly, her skin crawling.

“No, actually. He wasn’t. But your name was thrown around, here and there,” Bucky explains. “We thought… at first, we thought your name was going around because you sell weapons, and maybe, whoever was making a move, whoever was buying around our side of town wanted to go legit, wanted to purchase from a legitimate company, but then, we quickly realised that no, it wasn’t about buying, them mentioning your name. You were the target.”

Toni splays her hands over the table. “Are you trying to tell me that a group of my former employees, currently disgruntled, attempted to buy black-market parts of weapons like bombs with the express intention of blowing me up?” she asks, carefully.

Steve and Bucky exchange a look. “That’s what we think, yes.”

“Okay,” Toni says, carefully, not yet able to look them in the eye. “Keep going.”

“We started keeping some guys on your tail, just watching. They weren’t…” Bucky sighs. “They were told to keep a distance, just keep a watch out for anything suspicious. They didn’t really report anything back to us that was concerning. Until-”

“Until today,” Toni sighs, leaning back in her chair.

Steve nods. “The guys who were following you were the ones who told us about DeWitt. They saw him enter Stark Industries. He was looking shifty, and so they got worried and let us know. We decided to come and check it out, anyway, but then we got a second call letting us know that he’d… well, he’d held the whole lobby hostage and was demanding to speak to you. When we got there, you’d already invited him up to your office,” he says, with a disapproving edge to his voice.

“Look,” Toni begins, scathingly, narrowing her eyes and leaning forward. “If you’re expecting me to apologise or to show appropriate regret for the choices I made today-”

“You could’ve gotten killed,” Steve says, coldly. “He could’ve come up there, not listened to a word you said and just pressed his detonator. Then, where would you be? You’d be a bloody, broken, unrecognisable mess, strewn in body parts everywhere, and your son-”

“Watch it,” she says, dangerously.

Steve back-tracks. “Peter wouldn’t have been far behind. Inviting him up was reckless.”

“So, I was just supposed to let him terrorise the people in the lobby, even when they were completely innocent, had nothing to do with what happened between DeWitt and I?” Toni challenges.

Steve blows out a breath between his teeth. “There’s a time to be the hero, and there’s a time to be smart, Toni,” he snaps.

“There was _no_ time to be a hero,” Toni says, through her teeth, clenched tight, her jaw matching the same. “He was going to hurt the receptionist, Marcia, and that wasn’t… _I’m_ the one who pissed him off. I needed to protect them. They didn’t deserve to have that monster terrorising them. So, I made him come up to him. That was not me being a hero; that was me taking responsibility for my actions and wanting to protect my employees. That was me being a damn good boss, and that’s what I am. I am a _good_ boss.”

“I know that,” Steve sighs. “It’s just-”

“I know what you’re going to say,” Toni interjects before he can even say it. “I know that you’re going to say it was dumb and foolish and I put myself in danger, and Pepper in danger, and my _son_ in danger, aren’t you? Well, I don’t need to hear this, frankly, and I don’t need to hear the lecture from _you_ , either of you. Keep going with your story.”

“Fine,” Steve huffs, realising that he may have crossed a line he had no right to cross. “When we got there, your receptionist was a crying mess. We managed to get her to calm down enough for her to tell us that she’d heard your voice through the speakers in the lobby and you’d called the guy up to your floor and he’d gone. So, we ran after him and you, and when we got there, he was on top of you-”

Toni watches, with an almost absent, morbid curiosity, as his hands on top of the table clench tight, until the knuckles strain hard against the skin, white as milk.

“He was on top of you and he was choking you, hurting you, and-”

“I shot him,” Bucky finishes, leaning back in his chair, feline and contented, so satisfied, like the cat who ate the canary, but with a more savage, promising edge to the look in his eyes. “I shot him in the head.”

“And covered me in his blood,” Toni says, ignoring the way her heart pounds in her ribcage like a jackhammer, ignores the lust that spears down right to her belly, between her legs, white-hot and aching. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“I was doing you a favour,” Bucky says, lazily, eyes dragging over the length of her body.

There’s something hot and sharp looming behind his pale eyes, and she remembers that look, that infernal look, the one he’d get back in high school, when they’d first started having sex with each other, and he’d get her on a table, a dining table or a study table, he wasn’t particularly picky, and he’d roll up her skirt and undo his jeans and pull that beautiful, thick cock of his out and fist it like he knew she was hungry for it.

She was hungry for it, all the time, she was hungry for it, and they knew, both of them, the bastards, they always knew.

God help her, but she’s hungry for it now.

She hasn’t gotten laid in so long, considering how hard it is to find company for a one-night stand when she has a four-year-old waiting for her at home and she’s a single mother.

She wants them, she wants them as she’s ever wanted them, especially with how they look now, all big and broad and bold and beautiful, sharp as a knife and just as deadly.


	4. iv.

“If I hadn’t shot the guy when I did, he would’ve choked you to death,” Bucky says, his voice turning sharp, like flinders. “I did what I had to do to save your life. I ain’t apologisin’, and you should be thankin’ me.”

Toni remembers the weight of DeWitt on top of her, his hands around her throat, the stench of his sweat in her nose and the pressure on her chest, as she fights to breathe and draw air and think, her eyes and throat and mouth and lungs burning like fire is burning inside her.

She clears her throat and looks down at Peter, who’s looking up at her, expectantly.

“Are you done, sweetheart?” she asks, fond and unbearably soft.

Peter nods, solemnly. “Yeah, Amma. It was really nice.”

“Why don’t you thank the nice men for giving us the food?” she coaxes.

Peter tilts to the side, leaning his head against Toni’s arm, and peers at Bucky and Steve with his huge, dark eyes.

“Thank you for the food,” he says, shyly.

Bucky cracks a smile, always a sucker for little children, showing a hint of pearly white teeth. “You’re very welcome, little man.”

“I don’t know your names,” Peter declares, scrabbling off his chair so that he can perch in Toni’s lap.

The sudden weight of him in Toni’s lap drags the air out of her lungs and makes her wheeze, but she recovers well, wrapping her arms around him to make sure he doesn’t fall over, resting her chin on top of his head.

“Well, my name’s Bucky, and this is Steve,” Bucky replies, flinging a thumb at Steve who gives an awkward little wave to Peter.

“Bucky,” Peter’s face screws up. “That’s a really weird name.”

“Peter,” Toni chides. “That’s not how we talk to people when they tell us their names. Remember the conversation we had about Amma’s Indian name and how people thought that was weird too.”

Peter nods, a little sullen at having been admonished. “I shouldn’t say that people have weird names, because their names might mean something to them and their feelings might get hurt,” he repeats.

“That’s my boy,” Toni says, ruffling his hair.

Peter scowls and bats her hand away, before turning with all of the alarming intensity of his curiosity onto Steve and Bucky.

“Why are you called Bucky?” he asks, blinking wide and slow.

Steve huffs out a laugh. “Well, that’s my fault, champ. You see, I met Bucky when I was around seven. I was a little thing, scrawny, like just the size of you, and I used to get into a lot of fights-”

“Fighting is bad,” Peter says, solemnly. “Fighting is illeg-illeg-illegal,” he says, struggling to get that last syllable out. “Did I say that right, Amma?” he asks, looking up at her, with his big, dark eyes.

Toni presses a kiss to his hair. “You said it perfectly, baby.”

Peter grins up at her with a row of neat milk teeth and then, he turns his attention back to Steve and Bucky. “You were saying,” he says, primly, like he’s a good twenty years older than he is.

Toni bites back a laugh.

Steve chuckles a little at Peter’s sass. “You’re very right. It is illegal.”

Bucky coughs and mutters something along the lines of _look who’s talking_ under his breath.

Toni isn’t exactly champing at the bit to agree with anything that Steve or Bucky might be say, but she does find herself leaning forward in commiseration – maybe Mr Mob Boss should dial it down with the _stay away from drugs, kids_ lecture.

“But when I was a kid, I had a huge problem with bullies. Because I was so small, I used to get picked on a lot, and I always had a temper, which means that I always fought back, instead of lying there and taking it. And at the same time, when I saw some bully bothering someone else, I didn’t hesitate to jump in.”

“What’s hesitate?” Peter asks, kicking his legs back and forth.

Toni squeezes his shoulder. “Wait,” she explains.

“Wait for what?”

Toni chuckles. “No, I mean that it means _wait_.”

“Oh.”

“And so, one day, when I was a kid, I was fighting with some bully, and he had me on the ropes, I’ll admit. I had a split lip and he kept coming at me and at me, and suddenly, there was someone shouting _you let him go, you let him go right now_ ,” Steve says, voice going high and thin to mock the Bucky’s little boy voice. “And Bucky was there in the alley, and he was helping me get rid of the bullies and helping me back onto my feet. Now, I have my pride, so I pretended like I was totally in control of what was going on, but Bucky wasn’t having any of it. I introduced myself, told him all smart-like that my name was Steven Grant Rogers and asked him what his name was, and he said his name was James Buchanan Barnes.”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Peter repeats, slowly, sounding out each and every one of the syllables.

Bucky is busy grimacing at the repetitive mention of his full name.

Toni almost cracks a smile – she remembers the first time she’d heard him get called by his first name and she’d mocked him mercilessly for months for it, calling him _Mr President_ – of course, it had made for great roleplay sex, as great as roleplay sex can be when you’re teenagers.

“Yeah, so, you know what I said?” Steve asks, conspiratorially.

Peter leans forward, a gleam in his eyes, intrigued. “What?” he asks, excitedly.

“I told him that sounded like a moneybags’ name, and he was such a little guy, so I told him that I was going to call him Bucky from now on, to match how small he was. And it just stuck,” Steve sighs.

“What’s moneybags mean?” Peter asks, curiously.

“Uh, rich people,” Steve explains.

“Oh, like me and my amma,” Peter says, nodding. He frowns, looking down at his lap. “Is that something bad?” he asks, in a small voice.

Toni looks up, biting her lower lip, and she looks at Steve and Bucky, helplessly, who equally look like they’re deer caught in headlights.

“No, Peter,” Steve says, quickly. “No, it’s not a bad thing.”

Peter narrows his eyes. “But you said that Bucky’s real name sounded like a moneybags’ name; that sounds like having a moneybags’ name is a bad thing, and that’s why you changed it,” he argues.

“That’s not what I meant-”

Peter looks up at Toni. “Is _Peter_ a moneybags’ name?” he asks, almost afraid.

Toni almost says, “your name isn’t a moneybags’ name, your name isn’t even Peter, your name is _Pradyumna_ , that’s what I named you, me and only me, because that man who contributed to your conception, your blessed father, who did the fucking and the breeding, couldn’t even bother to be there when you were born, but had the temerity to insist that you be given a good white name and nothing as fucking outlandish as _Ahalya_ , like mine, and then, once he was certain I’d recovered plenty after childbirth, kicked me in the fucking ribs and said it shouldn’t hurt too much as I cowered in front of him and couldn’t breathe.”

She doesn’t say those things to her son.

She’s supposed to protect her son, protect him from everything, especially Tiberius Stone, and especially herself, and if she’d said _those_ things, she’d have been tantamount signing himself up for therapy for life.

“Nah, kid,” Bucky says, like it’s easy, slipping into that easy charm that Toni had always loved, with a roguish wink that makes Peter smile, just as easy. “Peter’s a cool name.”

“Oh, good,” Peter says, relieved, like he’d actually been worrying about it. “Because there are people at school, they make fun of me for being rich.”

Toni’s heart rattles in its cage.

Steve frowns. “They know you’re rich,” he says, cautiously.

Peter shrugs his little shoulders. “I guess,” he drags out. “‘Cause I show up with a nice bag and nice clothes and nice colour pencils, they don’t really like me.”

Toni closes her eyes. _Oh, no, oh, fucking no._

“And once, I heard the teachers talking about why I was at that school if my amma was so rich,” Peter says, sullenly.

Toni’s eyes snap open, the rage burning in her hot and fast – oh, my God, she’s going to cut a bitch.

“And Amma told me when I started school that I was a Stark, and that Starks were important, and there were some people that didn’t like that we were important, but I had to remember that everyone was important, including me,” Peter explains.

Bucky leans in. “Nice way of explaining the American class structure,” he mutters.

Toni glowers at him. _Go fuck yourself,_ she wants to say.

“Is there something wrong with having a lot of money?” Peter asks, looking up at them with big, puppy eyes.

Toni sucks in a deep breath.

Before she can answer, it’s Steve who’s answering.

She doesn’t like that, the instinctive, possessive emotion she has towards her son, _her_ boy, rearing its ugly head – it’s only ever been her and Peter, even when Ty was alive; even when Ty was alive, he hadn’t been around enough to weigh in on her parenting skills, and when he had been, and when he had weighed in, she’d smiled and simpered and agreed with whatever he said, whatever he had wanted her to do, and then, when he was gone, when he ultimately left, she did as she pleased.

“No, buddy, there’s nothing wrong with being rich,” Steve says, solemnly. “As long as you remember there are people out there who don’t have as much money as you do, and you do whatever you can to help them.”

“My Amma does that,” Peter says, proudly, shuffling back against her chest. “My Amma helps people. We go to a soup kitchen and give people food. Every month, we go down to the orphanage, and Amma plays with the babies and the little kids, and last time, _last time_ , because I was so good, and I was so careful, she let me hold one of the babies.”

Bucky flashes him a deep, broad smile, showing the dimples in his cheeks. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Peter scrunches up his face. “She opened her eyes, they were so blue, and she just made these noises at me, and then she started crying. It was really loud.”

“Believe it or not, you cried just as much and just as loud when you were a baby,” Toni says, tapping his soft, round cheek.

Peter glowers up at her. “I did _not_ ,” he huffs.

“You did.”

“It sounds like you and your mum are really good at helping other people,” Bucky tells him, gently.

“We are,” Peter nods, furiously.

“Hey, Pete, say, do you like it here?” Steve asks, suddenly.

Toni narrows her eyes, the hair on the back of her neck prickling.

Peter nods, unsure of where he’s going with this.

“Did you have fun playing with me and Buck before, while your ma was sleeping?” Steve asks, cajoling.

“I did,” Peter says, shyly.

“Would you like to play with us some more?” Steve asks, in that same coaxing tone.

“Yeah.”

“And did you like your lunch?”

“I did.”

“Well, you know, if you stayed here a while longer, you could play with us some more and eat all the pasta you want,” Steve wheedles.

_Oh, no, hell, no._

“That’s enough,” Toni says, quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“‘Cause we think it’d be great if you both stayed with us for a while, but your mum thinks that you want to go home. Do you want to go home, Peter?” Steve asks, kindly.

 _I might actually kill you for this_ , she thinks.

“No,” Peter says, carefully. “I want to play with you guys some more.”

“Great!” Bucky claps his hands together. “So, all you have to do is convince your mother to stick around with us. Do you think you can do that, champ?”

“Of course,” Peter huffs. “Amma does whatever I tell her to do.”

Toni colours.

Peter turns to her in her lap. “Can we stay here, Amma?” he pleads. “I want to play with Bucky and Steve some more.”

Toni flashes him a strained, taut smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m going to have to think about it, sweetheart. Hey, you know where the bathroom is, right?” she asks, conspiratorially.

“Yeah!”

“Why don’t you go and wash your hands, clean up, while I talk to Steve and Bucky over here, huh?” she offers, gently.

“Okay, Amma,” Peter says, obediently, and jumps off her lap, running off.

“Don’t run!” she calls out after him, smiling and then, when he’s gone, when he’s out of sight and past the doorway, she rounds on them with a terrifying glower. “What the fuck was that?” she asks, coldly.

“Look, Toni,” Steve sighs.

Toni slams her hands down on the table, sliding to her feet. “You want something from me, you want me to do something, you say it to my fucking face, you fucking cowards. You don’t go through my son,” she snarls, baring her teeth. “You don’t talk about this shit with him, you don’t manipulate him to get to me, you want something, you come straight to me and only me. You face me like men, you come to me with your concerns, you don’t fucking go through children, not my child, not my _son_.” She takes a deep, steadying breath, her skin rubbed raw, the blood pounding in her ears. “You just fucking lost privileges to have anything to do with him,” she tells them, her voice sharp, like flinders. “You do not touch my son, either of you, or I might actually kill you.”

She says it so finally, so determinedly, so definitively, that it rattles in her bones, like she knows this is the answer.

She has such history with these two men, has loved them and hated them in equal measure over the years, has dreamed about them fondly in shower scenes where they were all wet and naked, and has cringed away from them in nightmares like they were monsters hiding in forests, but there is a decision to be made here, a decision in the instant where she meets them again in real life, and these two parts of her life come into contact with her, the high school girl that was abandoned like yesterday’s sloppy leavings and the mother who would burn cities to the ground to protect her son, to keep him smiling and happy.

This is the answer: if it is a choice between Steve and Bucky, and Peter, she will always choose Peter. She would kill Steve and Bucky if it means protecting Peter, and she will stand up to them, say all manner of terrible, awful things to them, _hurt them,_ if it means that she is doing right by her son, the way her parents never did right by her.

“Look, I know we crossed a line,” Steve says, raising his hands in surrender.

“You don’t know jack shit,” Toni retorts without even giving him breathing space, so he can’t escape her cold, probing eyes. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have done it, either of you. Who do you think you are?”

“Toni, listen-”

“Just because we used to fuck a long time ago doesn’t give you the right to speak to my son without getting permission from me first,” she says, savagely.

Bucky and Steve flinch away from her.

She leans into the triumph.

“You might have been there in the right place at the right time today, you might have saved me, and I am grateful to you for it, I am thankful that I’m still around, but don’t talk to my son,” she tells them, sternly. “Don’t talk to him before you talk to me. Don’t use him to get to me. Don’t _manipulate_ him. He’s a _baby_ , he doesn’t know what you’re talking about, he doesn’t know anything about any of this, he can’t possibly give you a proper answer, and he doesn’t deserve to be brought into your stupid fucking games, _don’t use him to get to me_ -”

“Look, Toni, we overstepped, I know, and I’m sorry, but I don’t think you understand exactly what sort of position you’re in right now,” Steve tells her, coldly. “There are people trying to kill you.”

“I don’t believe you,” Toni snaps.

“Well, guess what, it’s the fucking truth,” Bucky says, without a care for her feelings, without mincing his words. “You want to be cavalier about your safety, fine, but don’t let your son pay-”

“Be very careful about what you say next,” Toni grinds out. “Because I have a feeling you were just about to insinuate that I don’t care about my own son’s, my _only_ son’s safety. Because that would be dumb, so dumb, that would make me angry, very angry. You realise that, right?”

“Look, I didn’t mean-”

“You never mean anything,” Toni mutters under her breath. “This conversation is over. Don’t talk to my son.”

She turns to move, to leave, and a warm hand catches her arm, turning her into a statue.

“Would you just… would you just listen to us, okay? Just listen, just let us explain,” Bucky says, hurriedly.

“What?”

“People are after you,” Bucky says, carefully. “You know what we were talking about. We heard your name going around, and people buying up all sorts of serious shit on the black market. We weren’t selling it to them, but we found out. It’s your name, it clearly has something to do with your ex-employees, and this, this thing with DeWitt clearly has something to do with this. We think that it would be safer for you and Peter to stay here with us, until we find out who’s behind this, who’s working against you, and deal with them.”

Toni stares at him, her heart pounding in her ribcage, resisting the urge to stare at the hand on her arm, bigger than she remembers, and she blinks, slow and wide, dragging herself out of that memory.

“I can’t just…” she closes her eyes. “I can’t just leave everything and come and stay with you guys. I have a job, a company that I run, employees that I am responsible for, that I support, deals that I have to see through, projects and orders that have to be pushed and finished, paperwork to fill out and sign. Peter… Peter has school, he has to go to school. I can’t just… take a leave of absence until you guys figure out this mythical villain who has it in for me!”

“You run that company; you’re telling us you haven’t clocked enough vacation days?” Bucky asks, brazenly. “And come on, doll, Peter’s in, what, kindergarten. I don’t think it’s going to stifle his education in any way; I heard him earlier, he was talkin’ about nanoparticle synthesis.”

Toni deflates. She shakes her head. “It’ll be too hard. Just because I run the company doesn’t mean I get to walk away from it whenever I want. There are things to be done-”

“Look, the world just saw a terrorist with a bomb come into your company and threaten to blow you up. You got into a physical altercation with the guy who was trying to blow you up. No one, and I repeat, no one with a fuckin’ beating heart in their chest is going to complain if you step away for a little while,” Bucky cajoles.

“And if they do?” Toni pushes.

“Well, then, send them over to me.” Bucky rubs his hands together. “I’m really good at convincin’ people to shut the fuck up.”

She’s smiling before she even knows what she’s doing, because she shouldn’t be, not with him, not around _them_ – this is how it starts, they make her laugh, they make her smile, they make her warm on the inside, in her belly, and her lungs are bursting full, and then, then, she’s in love, and they have her in their grasp, they’re holding her by the throat, and they can let go anytime, leave her in freefall until she’s ready to splatter on the pavement in a puddle of skin and blood and bare, cracked bone.

She’s not supposed to be doing this.

So, the smile fades.

“We saw that,” Steve says.

Toni frowns. “Saw what?”

Steve cracks a smile, showing a hint of pearly white teeth, and he even winks, the bastard. “Saw you smile.”

Toni huffs. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. By the way, I am still not okay with you following me.”

Steve looks immediately apologetic, a guilty, cracked quality to his expression. “It wasn’t… it wasn’t seedy or anything. The guys had instructions, reconnaissance only. If you were… uh, if you were busy or alone, they were supposed to leave you alone, not watch, you know, and our guys are pretty scared of us. We’d have… we’d have known if there was anything dodgy going on,” he reassures.

“You mean like if one of your guys had been peeping while I was getting changed?” Toni says, dryly.

It doesn’t faze her as it did when she was a teenager – paparazzi have been trying to get a picture of her naked for decades.

Steve’s jaw goes taut, and she spots the tight line of his shoulders. “That wouldn’t have happened,” he says, darkly.

“How can you be sure?”

“Because we run a tight ship,” Bucky says, almost lazily.

He says it as if he takes things much less seriously than Steve does, but she knows better, she knows his eyes are clouded with worry, and that’s all muscle under his skin, ready to be unleashed.

“And they’re not pigs, our guys,” he goes on. “They wouldn’t do anything like that. We wouldn’t let them, and they’re way more scared of us than they are of getting turned out onto the streets.”

Toni images a variety of scenarios, from books and movies and just her imagination, of men in chairs, in a dirty room with a leaky faucet or a leaky pipe somewhere up ahead, and Steve and Bucky are looming above, pacing back and forth, a knife in their hands, this man in the chair, his hair damp with sweat, cuts littering his body.

It’s a sick little triumph to imagine a voyeur in that position, but it also makes her skin crawl quietly, and she turns herself, ridding the image from her mind.

“I don’t want my son to be in danger,” she says, grinding her teeth.

There’s something different to her relationship with Peter, something different that she hasn’t seen between any mother and son, even with all the love they heap on their child, but that might be her own arrogance, but she is convinced, above all else, that it’s a fact of the universe really, that she brought Peter into the world on the mutual understanding that he knows what she knows, that she and him are all that they have in this world, at least for now.

And now, she only has him, he only has her, and she’s tried, she’s tried her hardest and her damnedest to give him a family of his own; she couldn’t give him Ty, and that had always annoyed her, but she’d given him Rhodey and Pepper and Happy and she’d hoped that was enough, she’d hoped that if something ever happened to her, they’d be enough, that he’d grow up happy and loved, that he’d know that she loved him, loved him above all else, with everything in her, even if she wasn’t there to see it.

“I know.” Steve gives her a soft, sad look.

“He’s the one I love the most,” she says, solemnly. “I don’t… I don’t have much, but I have him, and I can’t have him in danger.”

“We understand,” Bucky tells her, just as quiet and just as achingly sad.

“You really think it’s not safe for either of us to be out there?” she asks, wrapping her arms around herself.

The temperature of the room feels frigid, or maybe, that’s her.

“No, we don’t.”

Toni nods, almost absentmindedly.

The hate, the sour, bitter resentment wells up on cue, two emotions she knows better than anything else, and she bites it down before it floods into her throat, her mouth.

Her nails dig into her skin.

 _Keep your shit together, Stark_ , she tells herself. _Peter needs you to be strong, to be brave._

“Okay, then, we’ll stay.”

God, it feels like a death knell.

* * *

After a moment or two, Peter doesn’t return, and Toni grows worried, that nervous, anxious knot in her chest and her throat tightening (it never leaves, it’s been there since they put Peter in her arms, and it will never leave).

“How many people stay here with you?” she demands, hands planting on her hips.

“A couple dozen from both of our mobs, why?” Bucky asks, curiously, exchanging a look with Steve.

“Because Peter isn’t back yet from the bathroom, and I’m not exactly comfortable with letting him wander about your place without someone I trust watching him,” she says, simply.

“But you let him go to the bathroom?” Steve points out.

Toni shrugs. “Well, he knew where it was, and I’m not a helicopter parent, you know? But now it’s been a while, and if he was having trouble, he’s not exactly shy about calling for me. Come with me,” she decides.

She turns on her feet and stalks away, out the door of the little stone dining room they’d been eating in, and Bucky and Steve quickly follow after her, biting at her heels.

“How is it that this is our place, and she’s still giving us orders?” Steve mutters to Bucky, thinking she can’t hear them.

“Because it’s Toni,” Bucky says, resigned.

Toni bites back her smile.

“Where’s the closest bathroom?” she asks.

“Around the corner,” Bucky says, promptly.

She rounds the corner and finds a wooden door ajar. She pushes it open, and it’s empty.

“He’s not here,” she says, and the panic claws at her throat. “He’s not here; where could he have gone?” she demands, turning on them.

“It’s okay,” Bucky soothes, holding his hands up. “We’ll give Clint a ring. He’s the one that keeps things for us afloat when everyone else is out. He knows this place like the back of our hand.”

“Clint is the guy that I woke up to who wouldn’t let me see Peter, isn’t he?” she asks, her gaze narrowed.

“He is,” Bucky replies, uneasily.

“I don’t like him,” she says, decisively.

“You just don’t like him because you guys had such a tense first meeting. He’s a pretty great guy, Toni. Really funny and nice and good at his job,” Bucky says, earnestly.

Toni waggles a finger, a certain finesse to the way her hand moves, all deft and suave in the air, an engineer’s grace. “Yeah, I don’t want to linger too long on what _jobs_ those are,” she says, slyly. “Where is my son?”

“Amma?”

She turns around, and Clint is holding onto her son’s hand, bringing him around the corner. He sees her, immediately lets go of Clint’s hand, and barrels straight for her. She gets on her knees and catches him in her arms, so that she can swing him up and rest him on her hip.

“Where did you go?” she asks, unbearably soft, brushing hair out of his eyes.

“I went to the bathroom, and then, I was looking around and I found Clint. Do you know they have doggies, amma?” Peter asks, excitedly, once she puts him back down.

_Oh, fuck._

“No, I did not,” she says, fixing a semblance of a smile on her face. “But sweetheart, you know that you’re not supposed to wander off without telling me where you’re going, and it’s not very polite to go around peoples’ houses without then knowing.”

“I didn’t,” Peter says, belligerently. “Clint was there.”

Toni closes her eyes, because frankly, she was asking for this; Peter is made in her own image, and he has all of her sass.

“Still,” she says, gently. “You have to tell me, okay. I have to know where you are.”

Peter scuffs his foot against the ground, staring at his shoes. “I’m sorry.”

Toni finds herself smiling, something strange and tight in her chest. “You know what?”

Peter looks up at her, his brow creased in concern. “What?” he asks, warily.

Toni plants her hands on her chest, sighing resigned. “Well, you always look at your feet before you lie.”

Peter grins, boyish and unencumbered, and he holds his hands up again, so she’ll carry him. She rolls her eyes and lifts him up, putting him on her hip again.

“They have doggies, amma,” he whispers. “Can we have a doggie?”

“Absolutely not,” Toni declares, turning around to face Steve and Bucky.

They’re looking at her in that unbearably soft way of theirs, all big puppy eyes and pouting mouths, and she looks away, the blood hot in her face.

“You still hate dogs, huh?” Bucky says, amused.

“I don’t _hate_ dogs,” she retorts. “I have a healthy respect for dogs.”

Steve hums, his eyes dancing.

“I do! I just think we should occupy different liminal spaces of existence. That’s all,” she huffs.

Steve tilts his head down to make eye contact with Peter. “You wanna hear a story about your ma?” he asks, conspiratorially.

Peter nods, content to hide behind the curtain of Toni’s hair.

“Well, you know that your ma and Bucky and me, we used to go to high school together-”

Toni fixes him with one hell of a glower. _Tread very carefully._

“I didn’t know that,” Peter pipes up, suddenly shy.

Steve clears his throat. “Anyway, one day, we were walking home from school, and there was this big dog and it jumped her-”

“It _jumped_ her-” Peter gasps, eyes as big and round as the moon.

Steve nods. “It knocked her right down to the ground,” he says. “There was this giant dog on her, and your ma was screaming real loud, and we managed to get the dog off her, but she was terrified. Ever since, she’s never liked dogs all that much.”

Peter frowns and turns to glare at his mother. “Is that why you won’t let me have a doggie?” he demands.

Toni gives Steve a _thanks a fucking lot_ look.

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” she tries to soothe.

Peter’s scowl deepens. “You won’t let me have a doggie ‘cause you’re _scared_ ,” he complains.

“No, baby, I won’t let you have a dog because you’re too young to have a pet,” she tells him instead.

“So, when I’m bigger, you’ll let me have a doggie?” Peter asks, cajoling in his little boy with cuteness factor way.

Toni cracks a smile and she taps the dip in his chin. “We’ll see,” she says, vaguely.

Peter huffs and crosses his little arms over his chest, rolling his eyes at Steve and Bucky. “When she says that, it always means _no_.”

Toni just laughs. “Okay, baby, remember when Steve and Bucky asked you whether you’d like to stay here?” she asks.

Peter nods.

“Well, I decided since you like it so much here, and you’re having so much fun with Steve and Bucky that we’d stay here for a while. How would you like that?” she asks, painting a bright smile on her face, one that doesn’t touch her eyes, one that doesn’t make those wrinkles purse in genuine joy.

She has to be very careful, the smile has to be just right – Peter is four, but he isn’t stupid, and that mutual understanding of theirs, well, it means that he’s gotten very good at sensing her moods, sensing her joy and her grief and her rage and her fatigue, and he’s gotten very good at responding, if it means smiling with her or laughing with her or curling up against her side or throwing his arms around her for a hug or a cuddle, all of it, he knows it like the back of his hand, like she knows it for him.

So, she has to be very careful.

Peter can’t know how much she hates it, this idea of staying here, with them, to walk around and know they linger at the edges of her vision and she can’t escape them, and all those emotions, those feelings that she’d shoved down inside her into a box that was wide open right now, they’re all welling up inside her like a floodgate is breaking.

“I’d _love_ it,” he gushes and throws her arms around her shoulders, pressing his mouth against her cheek in a kiss. “Thank you, amma.”

“Anything for my baby,” she says, and her eyes meet Steve and Bucky’s, without flinching, almost a challenge. “Anything.”


	5. v.

“Clint!” she calls out. “You seem to be good with kids, right?”

Clint shrugs and makes a silly face at Peter, who giggles and hides his face in Toni’s throat.

“I do well by them,” he says.

“Good,” Toni says and heaves Peter into his arms. “Watch Peter for a bit while I make a phone call.”

Peter squawks and glowers up at her. “Amma!”

“Sweetheart, I need to call Aunt Pepper and tell her that we’re going on a little vacation,” she reassures. “I’ll be right back.”

“Uh,” Clint says, grimacing. “I don’t know if Cap and the Sergeant will like it if you-”

Toni lifts an eyebrow, almost challenging.

“Yeah, okay,” Clint says, quickly. “I can take care of the munchkin.”

“Good,” Toni says, satisfied. “Okay, Peter, sweetheart, I’ll be right back. You be good for Clint, okay?”

“Okay, amma,” Peter says, sullenly.

Toni smooths a hand over his hair and moves over to an abandoned corner, pulling out her phone from her pocket. She flicks through, seeing the thousand or so messages that come on when she first switches on her phone.

Pepper: _WHERE ARE YOU? CALL ME ASAP._

Rhodey: _PEPPER TOLD ME WHAT HAPPENED. CALL ME I’M WORRIED_

Those were the latest two, followed by so many more that are in the exact same tone, very similar wording, almost intact hysteria.

She calls Pepper first.

“Hi,” she says, in a low, rushed voice.

“What the fuck,” is the first thing that Pepper says, a dangerous edge to her voice. “Where are you? Where did you go? Are you okay? Are you safe? Is there…” she lowers her voice. “Is there someone with you? Toni, I let those guys in, and they had this picture, they said they knew you, but-”

“I’m okay,” she says, quickly, before Pepper can lean in too far into her hysteria. “I’m safe.”

“What the fuck,” Pepper repeats. “Wait, wait, wait, before you say anything, I need to get Rhodey in on this call.”

“I can do it,” Toni says, and she’s adding Rhodey to call before she second-guesses herself.

“What the fuck,” Rhodey says, his voice flat.

“I am okay, I am safe,” Toni soothes, like she would soothe Peter.

“Are you really?” Rhodey demands. “Because Pepper told me that some fuckwad decided that you’re to blame for all the shit that’s gone down in his stupid fucking life and decided to _blow you up_.”

“Yes, that did happen, well, almost happen,” she corrects herself. “But I was, uh, saved, I suppose.”

“Yeah, those hot guys in combat gear,” Pepper says, appreciatively.

Toni grimaces. “Please don’t say that again.”

“Why not? Since when do we not have conversations about hot men?” Pepper asks, almost offended.

“When I’m on the phone,” Rhodey points out, grumbling.

“You should’ve seen these guys, Rhodey,” Pepper gushes. “They just showed up, showed me this _adorable_ photo of them with Toni, when she was like fourteen-fifteen, something like that? And they just busted the door open and launched themselves at this guy.”

“Wait, they had a photo of themselves with Toni?” Rhodey asks, suspicious.

Toni closes her eyes.

_Oh, no, oh, fucking no._

Pepper knows nothing about Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers, but Rhodey? Rhodey knows everything.

“Exactly who are these guys, Toni?” Rhodey asks, his voice thinning.

Toni takes a deep, steadying breath – _moment of truth_. “You know them,” she says, calmly. “You remember Bucky and Steve, don’t you?”

There’s a telling pause.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Rhodey rages. “It was _them_?”

“Rhodey,” she begins.

“Those… those evil, miserable fucking _cunts_ , they were the ones who _saved_ you?”

“Wait, who are they?” Pepper asks, almost afraid.

“Rhodey, please, don’t,” Toni says, quietly, her heart in her throat, the world tilting around her and flipping, dragging her sideways. “ _Please_.”

Rhodey quietens almost immediately. “Sorry, sorry, babe,” he says, apologetically, his voice soft.

“What is going on here?” Pepper asks, high-pitched. “Who are these guys? Are they evil guys that we should not be drooling over?”

“Yes,” Rhodey says, darkly. “Toni,” he sighs. “Toni, I’m not happy.”

“I know, but I’m safe. I’m okay, Peter is okay. We’re both okay. I’m going to… okay, please don’t get mad, but I’m going to be staying here for a while.”

“Toni, Toni, _no_ ,” Rhodey says, his voice sharp like flinders. “Toni, that is not a good idea.”

“Rhodey, I need you to trust me,” she says, patiently.

“Toni, these guys… these guys are not good for you and you know that,” Rhodey tells her.

“Of course they aren’t,” Toni replies, like it’s so easy, like there isn’t a pressure around her chest, like vices. “That has nothing to do with why I’m here. Call it a business transaction. For some reason, they seem invested in keeping me alive and keeping Peter alive, and I’m going to let them.”

“ _I_ can keep you alive,” Rhodey grinds out. “I can keep you safe, both of you, you and Peter. Toni, you’ve got me, you’ve got Pepper, we can do this together. If you think you’re not safe-”

“I love you,” Toni says, her voice unbearably soft. “I love you more than I love anyone else but for Peter. But I need you to trust me right now. I need you to trust that I know what I’m doing. You know I’d never put Peter in danger for anything.”

“I know that,” Rhodey sighs, resigned. “And I do trust you. It’s _them_ I don’t trust.”

“I know, but frankly, I’m using them to keep me and the baby safe, and I’m okay with that,” she says, simply.

“You’re sure?” Rhodey asks, and she can hear the way he purses his lips from the other end on the phone.

“Yeah,” Toni says, lightly.

“Okay, fine,” Rhodey grunts. “But the second it gets too much, the second you don’t want to do it anymore, see their stupid faces, you call me, and I’ll come and get you both, okay? And I’ll murder their fucking asses,” he says, fiercely.

“Okay,” Toni says, quietly, her throat welling up with feeling. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Not that it seems to matter,” Pepper huffs. “But I love you too, Toni.”

Toni lets out a light, full laugh. “Sorry about that, Pep,” she says, fondly.

“It’s okay. But once you hang up, Rhodey and I are going to have an immediate goss session about what the fuck is going on that I don’t know about already,” Pepper says, bluntly.

Toni cracks a smile. “Understood. I should probably go. I love you both. Be safe.”

“ _You_ be safe,” Rhodey retorts. “You’re the one that the fucking Unabomber tried to murder.”

“Bye,” she says, fondly, and hangs up.

She pockets the phone and rests her forehead against the stone wall, just for a moment, and takes deep, steadying breaths, until the emotion subsides, until she stops feeling like she’s about to claw herself out of her skin.

 _They can’t hurt you anymore_ , she reminds herself. _You were a kid when you knew them, and they broke your heart. You’re a woman now, you’re a mother, Peter is all that matters. They don’t matter. They never mattered. Starks are made of iron, Antonia._

It seems fitting, even if it’s unfair, that Howard’s words should come to her in this moment as a creature comfort.

It’s with that thought that she returns to her son, who is giggling uproariously at a joke that Clint is making, while Steve and Bucky are fondly looking on.

It’s almost like it was a little family, if it wasn’t their family; it was _hers_.

Peter sees her, and his big, brown eyes light up, and he breaks free of Clint and Bucky and Steve and comes straight for her, straight into her arms, and she’s lifting him up, and _this is home_.

She feels almost triumphant, like she wants to be childish and stick her tongue out at the three of them, like she needs to prove that this is hers, this is her family, and they can’t touch this.

“What did Aunt Pepper say?” Peter demands.

“Oh, you know, the usual; she misses you so much. She can’t wait to see you,” she tells him.

Peter taps his chin, thoughtfully. “Do you think she might have candy for me when we get home? She always buys the Marvelous Creations.”

Toni hums. “I’m sure she can be persuaded to do that, but you do remember our deal, don’t you? One piece of candy every three days, and you brush your teeth-”

“Twice a day, I _know_ ,” he says, long-sufferingly, with a roll of his eyes.

“Thank you for looking after him,” she tells Clint, solemnly and strained, a part of her, the vindictive, bitchy, less empathetic part of her, hates the idea of having to thank anyone that is in any way connected to Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.

“No problem. He’s a good kid,” Clint says and fist-bumps Peter, who happily reciprocates the action. “We had fun; isn’t that right, little man?”

“Yeah,” Peter chirps.

Toni can’t help but smile at the sweet sound.

“Look, I am sorry,” he says. “About before, about how you woke up. I know it was… probably scary, waking up and not knowing where your kid was.”

“It was,” she agrees, firmly.

“I am sorry. I shouldn’t have agreed to keep him from you,” Clint tells her, just as sober, and he flings a frustrated, sullen look towards Steve and Bucky who have the grace to look abashed.

“Thank you for saying that; just… don’t do it again,” she says, awkwardly.

“Amma, I need to go to the bathroom again,” Peter says, tugging on her shirt.

“Again?” Toni says, sceptically.

Peter promptly points at Clint. “He gave me a Ribena juice box,” he accuses.

“Thanks for that,” she says, sending a withering look at Clint.

Clint shrugs. “He was thirsty.”

“Okay, okay,” she says, letting Peter get down. “Go to the bathroom, then, but don’t do what you did before, okay? Come back straight here.”

Peter salutes her, like he’s seen Rhodey do half a hundred times before, and she grins at him, her lips twisting up and baring her straight, white teeth.

He rushes off, and suddenly, she’s alone with the three men.

“You know, now, since the munchkin is out of the room, there’s something that’s been bugging me for ages; do you mind if I ask you a question?” Clint says.

Toni’s gaze thins. “Tread very carefully.”

“Are your tits real?” he asks, very seriously, very severely.

Toni leans back, immediately offended. “Excuse me?”

“Are your tits real?”

Toni grinds her teeth, but she’s immediately started by the low, rumbling growl that comes from Steve, not Bucky, surprisingly, from his place by the wall, sending one hell of a dangerous glower Clint’s way.

“That is inappropriate,” Steve says, coldly, folding his broad arms over his equally broad chest.

“And dumb,” Bucky stresses. “Unless you want me to mess up that pretty face of yours, Barton.”

“I just wanted to know the answer,” Clint shrugs. “If she doesn’t want to answer, she doesn’t have to.”

“If she doesn’t want to answer, she might punch you in the fucking kidneys,” Toni tells him, with an arched eyebrow. “Don’t think your lame attempt at objectification ends with just a non-answer. Besides, why are you so curious?” she demands.

“Because there are so many deepfakes and so-called sex tapes on the Internet, and there are some pictures too, I think-” Clint’s brow furrows.

“They’re all fake,” Toni chimes in.

“Did you know there’s an actual Reddit thread dedicated to whether you might be the only female celebrity that’s never had any work done? I mean, they vigorously analyse each and every body part to see if there is any evidence that you might have had plastic surgery,” Clint explains.

“They’re real,” Toni says, with a roll of her eyes. “My tits, they’re real. I haven’t had any work done, anywhere, except for my nose, which was when I was twelve and at my father’s insistence, because I had the Persian Jew nose that I inherited from him, because he’s the Persian Jew, and he thought it would not help me in the future, if I looked too much like a Jew. Instead, I look too much like an Indian.”

“That’s… anti-Semitic of him,” Clint offers.

“It is,” Toni agrees. “But I think it speaks to the sort of fucked-up views of identity he had; he genuinely believed that you couldn’t make it in this country without being straight and white and preferably male. I am not straight, I am not white, and I am absolutely not male, so I failed on all counts. The nose job was just a way of attempting to accord to those particular requirements. But the tits? They are absolutely real.” She stares down at them with a frown. “Is it because they’re big? Is that why you thought they weren’t real?”

Clint turns red, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just that you’re kind of small, and they don’t seem very proportional-”

“I inherited this particular gift from my mother, which means small body but big tits, and it did not help, I can assure you. And it was absolutely a bitch to breastfeed, so much pain, so, they are more of a hindrance than anything else. But totally real.”

“Toni doesn’t need to enhance anything,” Bucky chimes in, giving her one of those boyish, unencumbered smiles that she remembers from high school. “She has a great body as is.”

Toni turns a cold, towering glare his way. “You absolutely have no right to say that talk about me like that anymore,” she tells him, quietly.

Bucky flinches and looks away. “Toni, I was just-”

“I don’t care,” Toni says, steeling her nerve. “I don’t care anymore. I can’t do this with you, either of you. I didn’t agree to stay because we have history. I agreed to stay _despite_ the fact that we have history. You can’t…” her lip quivers even as she tries to stop it, and they catch it, they always catch it, because somehow, even after all of these years, after all these years that they’ve been apart, they know her body better than she does. “You can’t do this to me. You can’t… you can’t treat me like I’m someone you know. You can’t.”

Bucky and Steve look at her almost sympathetically.

She scowls in reply, because the last thing she needs from anyone is fucking pity; fucking pity makes her want to go and off herself, because she hates it, she _hates_ the idea that someone would look at her, everything that she is, and they would see something to be _pitied_.

“Okay, Toni,” they say in unison, and then, they leave, and her chest starts hurting.

“You know, it’s interesting.”

Toni narrows her eyes, pressing her fist against her breastbone. “What is?”

Clint shrugs. “I make one comment about your tits, and they look like they want me on the ground bleeding. Really makes you think, huh?”

“Fuck off, creeper,” Toni snaps.

* * *

“So, it can’t be just the three of you, right?” Toni says, once they’re settled in the lounge, and Peter’s happily focused on his Rubik’s cube, tongue sticking out between his teeth, as he tries to solve it.

It’s not the sort of aesthetic that she’s used to, more colonial than sharp, sleek angles, and there’s even a fireplace in the centre of the room, with actual kindling made from chopped wood and an actual roaring fire. There are couches, soft with use, and Toni sinks into one, with Peter balanced on her lap.

It’s homey, their mob hideout.

“Nah, there’s more of us,” Clint tells her before Steve or Bucky can. “But they’re out on a recon mission; they’ve been looking into the black-market stuff your wannabe assassins have been looking for.”

“Oh,” Toni says, lamely.

“They’re on their way back,” Steve says, staring down at his phone. “They should be back in ten minutes.”

As he says, in ten minutes, a bunch of people walk in.

First is a man with dark skin, much darker than hers, dark eyes, with hair closely shorn to his skull, and a short, angled beard. After him is a man almost as tall as the ceiling with long, braided golden hair, like a Viking, and muscles to match, like a bodybuilder in leather. Finally, there’s a woman, tall, with six-inch heels, dark red hair and dark green eyes, and skin pale as milk.

“Natasha,” Toni says, breathlessly, her voice more like a hollow sound.

Natasha’s jaw is like stone when she drags her eyes over her, landing on Peter in her lap. Her expression changes when she sees Peter, into something that Toni can’t quite define.

 _No, no,_ she thinks, clenching her fists tight over her thighs.

She has to be vicious and adamantine.

“What the hell is she doing here?” Natasha hisses at her cousin.

Bucky scowls, almost instantaneously. “Just leave it, cuz.”

“She shouldn’t be here,” Natasha insists. “She should go home.”

“Nice to see you too, Nat,” Toni calls out, snidely.

Natasha rounds on her with such a fearsome look. “You should go home, Toni,” she says, severely. “You shouldn’t be here. Go home, and take your-”

“Be very careful about what you say next,” Toni says, softly, with a smile that could draw blood.

Natasha’s jaw turns to stone. “After everything you’ve done-”

“Me?” Toni hisses, the rage burning hot and fast. “Me? Are you sure about that, Nat? Maybe you want to revisit your memory again.”

“My memory’s fine, but it’s yours that’s clearly messed up, otherwise you wouldn’t have shown your face-”

“Your cousin and his boyfriend are the ones that begged me to stay here, you moron, so maybe you should be looking at them,” Toni scoffs, her voice lined with disgust.

“Natasha,” Bucky says, sweetly. “Please shut up.”

Natasha glowers at him.

Bucky stares straight back.

Finally, Natasha huffs and looks away.

“Sam, Thor, this is Toni and her son, Peter.”

“Hi,” the first man with the dark skin says, holding out a hand for her to shake. “Sam,” he introduces. He fist-bumps Peter, who returns it shyly. “Nice to meet you, champ.”

“Nice to meet you,” Peter replies, ducking his head.

“Lady Stark,” the Viking-like man beams down at her. “It is very nice to make your acquaintance. The Captain and the Sergeant have spoken very complimentary of you-”

“-which is difficult,” Natasha mutters under her breath.

Toni ignores her.

“-and I am glad that we are all able to come together after you have been through such an ordeal,” Thor says, clasping her hand in his own much larger ones, without shaking them. “And your son, as well. He is the very image of you.”

“Thank you.” She offers a strained, taut smile.

“And, of course, you know Natasha,” Steve says, without losing his composure in the slightest.

“Of course I know Natasha,” Toni replies, easily, even if she might just be eaten up with her own spite.

“Toni,” Natasha says, curtly.

She doesn’t spare Peter a second glance, which only serves to make Toni want to punch the bitch in her stupid face.

“What did you find out?” Steve asks, his voice firmer, more deliberate.

“There were five men,” Sam says, instantly. “All different ages. They were looking for various incendiary devices, not guns, like we thought. Gunpowder, wires, circuits, thinks like that.”

Toni shifts on the couch. “They’re trying to build a bomb,” she guesses. “For me, they’re trying to build a bomb for me.”

“It looks that way, yeah,” Sam replies, shooting her an apologetic look.

“Pepper,” Toni says, suddenly.

Peter perks up. “Aunt Pepper?” he asks, looking around, expectantly.

Toni bites back a laugh. “Sorry, baby, she’s not here right now,” she soothes.

Peter pouts, with his arms folded across his chest, and he leans back against her chest.

“I spoke to Pepper, my PA. She knows I’m going to be away for a while, and she’s going to handle everything in my absence, so I guess we’re in your tender mercies,” she says, dryly.

“Joy,” Natasha says, sarcastically.

Toni fixes her with a glare. “You got a problem that we need to hash out, Romanoff?” she asks, coldly.

“I don’t know, Toni, do we?” Natasha taunts.

Toni grinds her teeth. “Should we go somewhere else and talk about it?” she asks.

“No, I have no intention of having an extended conversation with you, Toni,” Natasha replies, her voice thin and taut. “I’m just trying to do my job. In fact, I’ll be really happy once you’re out of our hair.”

“Natasha,” Bucky says, his voice sharp like flinders. “Can you please not?”

She snaps something at him in Russian, and he replies, in the exact same tone, and suddenly, it’s devolving into an argument that Toni can understand.

“She shouldn’t be here,” Natasha is busy hissing at her cousin.

“Well, she’s here, so deal with it,” Bucky retorts.

“I don’t want to deal with it; you and Steve shouldn’t be dealing with it. She shouldn’t be here!”

“I’m not having an argument about this, Tasha,” Bucky says, weary and spent. “She’s here, she needs us, she needs our protection, so deal with it. By the way, did you forget about the fact that Toni knows how to speak Russian?”

Natasha pauses, and her eyes drift in Toni’s direction, who simply arches an eyebrow in condescension.

Natasha’s face flames, and she stubbornly looks away.

“It’s good to know what you think, Nat,” Toni says, snidely. “I’ll be sure to keep out of your hair.”

“You do that,” Natasha says, stonily. “And I’ll repeat the favour.”

“So,” Toni sighs, smiling at the rest of them with one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “What’s fun to do around here?”

* * *

Peter falls asleep after the intense, hectic day he’s had, which is nice, and he falls asleep in her lap. He’s still young enough that she doesn’t quite mind the weight of him there, propped up on her thighs, and Steve and Bucky’s inner circle invites her to play poker with them, and it’s easy enough for her to keep Peter on her lap, pat his hair with one hand, while she holds her cards with her other hand.

She ends up cleaning them all out, amidst the beer and chips, including Natasha and Bucky, who she remembers as being terrifyingly good at this game, but she’s not the same teenager prone to hysterical emotion as they knew her, which makes for a good game when she manages to pull the rug right out from underneath him.

Her poker face wins billions of dollars daily – it’s actually kind of sad that they forgot that when they asked her to play with them.

They finish up with a whimper and not a bang, and Clint is the first to stretch like a cat and yawn, citing that he’s too fucking tired to do anything else. After him, everyone else follows.

“I’ll clean up,” Steve says, even if his eyes droop a little. “It’s my turn.”

“I’ll help,” Toni offers.

Bucky and Steve exchange a look that only serves to spark her temper.

“No, no, you don’t need to do that,” Steve says, quickly.

“Why not?” Toni replies, easily, not allowing them to get to her. “I helped make this place messy. I might as well help you clean up.”

“Yeah, but what about Peter?” Bucky points out.

Toni rolls her eyes – as if she’d ever forget about her son, with the weight of him propped up on her lap, as it is. “The munchkin’s sleeping,” she says, her eyes dipping low to give him a fond look, as his little chest rises and falls, rises and falls (when he was a baby, she used to sit by his crib and just watch him breathe). “He won’t get up; he was really tuckered out. I can put him to bed when we’re done.”

Steve watches for a moment and then, nods, resigned. “Okay, sure, uh, you and me can clean up together.”

“Stevie!” Bucky hisses.

“What, Buck, _what_?” Steve snaps.

Another look is exchanged by the couple that makes Toni angrier.

“Don’t worry, Barnes,” she says, with a sly purr to the edge of her voice. “I promise not to lay my hands on the godly perfection that is Steve Rogers.”

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s really not what I’m worried about,” he says, wearily. “Behave, both of you,” he says, sternly, and leans down to peck Steve softly on his mouth.

Toni watches them kiss, and her temper dries up into something soft and uncomfortable, clenching in her gut. She looks away, a shadow crossing her face, as she remembers the way Bucky used to kiss her like that, the way Steve used to kiss her like that, how she might be lying in one of their beds, and they’d wake her up by kissing her hair, her forehead, her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, her jaw, and finally, her mouth.

And then, they might have slipped their hands between her legs, groped at a breast or two, and then, all she would have known is their fingers and their tongues and their cocks.

They leave Steve and her alone in the room, and it’s almost instantaneously awkward.

“Let me just put the munchkin on the couch; otherwise, I might not be able to move from this chair,” she advises, standing up, with her arms under Peter’s shoulders and knees.

She carries him over to the couch, lets him snuggle up to one of the pillows instead of her, and returns to the table, picking up the chip bowls, one by one. She throws out the crumbs before dumping the bowls in the sink. She somehow manages to dodge Steve as he moves around with his giant bulk, empty beer bottles between his fingers.

“You got big,” she can’t help but comment.

Steve pauses, the wide line of his shoulders taut, and then, he closes the recycling bin (she still finds it morbidly amusing that mobsters recycle).

“I did,” he says, carefully, when he turns around, watching her with that unfathomable expression like he doesn’t know how to react to what she’s saying.

“You were skinny when I last saw you,” she murmurs. “Really small, like you were made of bird bones.”

“I remember,” Steve replies in the exact same tone.

“I could wrap my whole hand around your wrist,” she recalls.

“I could do the same to you,” he tells her, solemnly.

Toni worries her teeth on her lower lip. “So, what happened?”

Steve shrugs. “I don’t know, I mean… my ma stepped down from the mob. She couldn’t do it anymore; she wanted to devote the rest of her life to actually being a nurse, you know? Instead of doing both,” he explains. “But I mean, she looked one look at me, the day before she stepped down, and she says: _you know, Stevie, I love you, but if you don’t get bigger than you already are, no one’s gonna follow you, and if you want to stay alive in our line of business, you gonna need people to follow you_. She wasn’t being mean about it or anything. She was just telling me the truth.” He shrugs. “I still have asthma, but I managed to work around it. My growth spurt came in, grew eight inches, almost a hundred and fifty pounds. I can bench press more than three times what I could before, can run faster. It was like…”

“It was like you were a whole new person?” she guesses.

Steve smiles, fleetingly. “Something like that. I joined the army, a couple of tours, and then, honourable discharge. Bucky came with me, and then, you know, he lost his arm-”

Yes, Toni had realised that.

But she still rocks back on her feet from the force of the blow of his words, her mouth dry as sawdust.

Steve’s face turns sympathetic almost immediately. “It was friendly fire,” he explains. “Our convoy got completely up-ended; Bucky was trapped underneath. It felt like days that he was stuck there, that we were stuck there. Finally, we managed to get out of there to the nearest military hospital, but they, the doctors, they told us that there wasn’t anything more they could do for his arm. The damage was too bad, and that amputation was the only way forward; otherwise, the disease would spread to the rest of his body.”

Something wells up inside her, grief or tears or disbelief, she doesn’t know what it is, but before it can see the light of day, she tries to catch it, cage it behind her teeth.

“He’s okay now?” she asks, in a small voice, and realises almost immediately that it’s a stupid question. “I don’t mean… I understand it’s a life-changing event, losing a limb. I just meant… is he-”

“It was pretty touch-and-go at the beginning,” Steve says, pity shining behind his blue, blue eyes. “He… Bucky didn’t deal with it all that well when he woke up, and he couldn’t see his arm. He was angry for a long time. It wasn’t just PTSD from the war, but… also losing his arm. He got therapy, though, and we worked through it. He’s a lot better than he was at the beginning, that’s for sure.”

“You could’ve called me,” she blurts out before she can stop herself.

Steve stills and angles his entire body to face her, tilting his head in surprise.

“I mean, if you needed strings to be pulled or something, if things weren’t getting done,” Toni goes on, wincing. “Or even… I mean, better medical care. Something like that, I mean, you could’ve called me. I could’ve… I could’ve cashed in favours. I have a lot of pull with the army.”

“I know you do,” Steve replies, easily. “But it wasn’t your problem, Toni. We weren’t going to disturb you like that.”

 _Because it isn’t your life, because they aren’t yours anymore_ , Toni reminds herself, bitterly. _Because they don’t want you anymore, and they don’t want you fucking up their lives any more than you already have, you fucking loser. Look at you, you’re fucking clingy, even after they broke up with you years ago. You’re practically a fucking stalker at this point. Why are you so interested?_

“Still…” she clears her throat. “I mean, if you still need anything, you can tell me. I know we’re not… I know we don’t talk, but we’re adults now, and I… I can help, if you need me to. Does he have a prosthetic? I could… Stark Industries does a little prosthetic work now. I could arrange for him to have a meeting?” she offers.

“Thank you,” Steve says, in an honest, sincere way that makes her feel like she could paint the sun into the sky, like everything she says is valued and precious. “But we’re good, Toni. We’re doing okay.”

“You’re sure?” she can’t help but push for a third time, something tumbling restlessly in her gut.

“Yeah, we’re good. You don’t… you don’t need to worry about us anymore,” Steve says, gently. “We can take care of ourselves.”


	6. vi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: discussions of amputation. 
> 
> Written for the "Accurate Depictions of Ableism" for the Banned Together Bingo 2020.

“You two sure made it the long mile,” Toni says, without thinking.

She doesn’t know what it is, whether it’s lingering fury at her own weakness, thinking that she could be their friend again, after everything, thinking that she would still offer them her time and her usefulness even if they make it clear that they don’t want it, whether it’s the way that Steve rejects her, so easily, like he’s drawing lines and boundaries and he wants them to keep to it, when it should be _her_ , as the injured party in all of this, who draws the lines here, whether it’s the way that Bucky told them to behave, told _her_ to behave, all worried, like she’s been gagging to be on the other ends of their dicks ever since they ended things, like she’ll make a play for his boyfriend while he’s gone, like she’s the homewrecking whore in this story.

She doesn’t know what it is, but it turns her half-sick with rage and wanting to bite back, to show them that she has teeth, even if she has been showing it this entire time.

“I mean, they usually say that amputations and PTSD aren’t exactly the best stimulant for a relationship after the soldier returns from overseas. But the two of you clearly made it work. I’m happy for you,” she says, tersely.

“Thank you,” Steve says, carefully, like he knows she’s insulting him and being less than gracious.

“You haven’t brought any other poor, unsuspecting girl to your relationship to screw with, right? Because that’s probably where I’d draw the line at being happy for you.”

Steve drops the plate in the sink with a terrible clatter, and Toni sucks in a deep breath, despite herself.

Ty’s been dead for ages, but she still shakes at loud noises.

Steve rounds on her, and there is something haggard in his frame. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Toni smiles, faintly, still sharp enough to draw blood. “Oh, you understood me.”

“I’d still like an explanation, though,” Steve says, his voice like steel.

“I’m just saying… I don’t want to see some other poor girl end up like me,” Toni explains, in a voice that might curdle milk.

“End up like you? What does that mean exactly?” Steve demands, angling his great, hulking frame towards her.

“You know, the two of you are like stars, orbiting around each other, pushing and pulling, this little system all on your own. But when someone else comes into that orbit, they burn up. They burn to dust. They burn to nothing,” Toni says, coldly. “In realistic terms, that usually means that girls that get involved with you end up used and bleeding out and thrown out in the trash, when you’re done wanting us, because we don’t get to touch the orbit, we don’t get to pierce the orbit, we don’t become part of the orbit, because we’re not good enough, it’s not _for_ us, we’re not _worthy_ enough to be a part of your stupid, fucking orbit. And we pay for that, Rogers, we pay for it, not you, not you. _We do_.”

“Do you really think that’s what happened to you?” Steve replies, sharp and biting. “You think, what, you’re some sort of victim in all of this, and there’s some imaginary price that you’re paying even now? Give me a fucking break, Toni. You have _no_ idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

For a long moment, Toni and Steve are stuck staring at each other.

“Muffins!”

Toni’s head turns so quickly she fears that it cracks, and she walks over to Peter, lying on the couch, her rage drying up with every step she takes towards her son. She touches his hair, she whispers his name, but he doesn’t respond.

She worries her teeth on her lip, and she brushes his hair back, smiling faintly at the sight of him, so peaceful.

“Is he okay?” Steve asks from behind her, his voice low.

“He’s fine,” she says, not taking her eyes off Peter. “He’s fine. He’s just dreaming.”

“Dreaming about muffins?” Steve asks, half-amused.

“He has this thing… he likes raspberry and white chocolate the most, but I… I try and curtail it as much as I can, because if I didn’t, he’d eat a whole hamper full,” Toni says, fondly, a long, breathless second heaving against her lungs. “I… sometimes, if he’s been really good, I’ll put one in his lunch. And that’s not even a good benchmark, because he’s always really good, you know. He’s always so kind and so good and so respectful and very rarely throws tantrums. He’s such a… such a good boy.”

“I can tell,” Steve murmurs. “He took everything in stride, you know. You told him you were gonna stay here, and he just took it in stride. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t complain, nothing. He’s a good boy.”

Toni nods, still staring at her son.

“I was sorry to hear about your husband,” Steve says, quietly.

Toni turns to him, a little confused.

“It was all over the news,” he explains. “We knew… uh, we wanted to come and see you, but we didn’t think you would have taken it well if you’d seen us, so we didn’t come. So, yeah, I’m sorry, _we’re_ sorry about your husband.”

“I’m not,” Toni says and looks up.

Steve blinks, slow and wide, in confusion at her.

“What?” Toni smirks a little unforgivingly, the sharpness of her mouth enough to draw blood. “You were expecting me to start crying, sobbing about how much I miss my husband, how much it sucks to be a widow, how I have to raise my son on my own?”

Slipping into the role of the self-satisfied, self-centered bitch is the only way she’ll get through this conversation.

“Well, yeah, kind of,” Steve says, uncertainly.

Toni shrugs. “Ty wasn’t the sort of guy you mourn for very long anyway,” she says, vaguely.

She remembers an argument on the deck that devolves into him grabbing her by the throat and squeezing until she’s hurting, until she’s fighting for her life, kicking and punching and scratching and clawing, until she can’t breathe, until he deigns to let her go. She remembers him coming into the bathroom, while she’s showering, watching her showering, his eyes latched onto her throat and her breasts, and she ignores the bruises on her throat, the way it hurts to swallow, and he steps forward with a diamond necklace and wraps it around her throat, hiding the bruises, and he kisses her and he promises it’ll never happen again, he’ll never hurt her again, that he loves her more than anything in this world, that he would burn cities to the ground for her, and then, he kneels down, fully-clothed, in the middle of their shower, the water raining down on her, and buries his face between her legs and licks into her until she’s screaming.

No, she didn’t mourn Ty for very long at all.

Steve watches her carefully. “What do you mean by that?”

In a different world, she might have come to them, shrouded in mourning white, her face free of colour, the redness still in her eyes as she grieves the dead husband of hers that she killed.

In this world, though, she had no one to come to. In this world, Rhodey and Pepper came to her, comforted her, did all the things that friends were supposed to do when their friend’s husband died. In this world, Toni taught her son how to do all the rituals for his dead father, took on the role of the wise, broken old woman decades before she should have and burned her husband’s body herself, and no one knew. No one will ever know what sort of man Tiberius Stone was, in truth, what she had to do to save herself and her son, and maybe that’s just how it has to be.

She looks at Steve.

Something passes between them, something electrified, like touching a current, and she breathes, slow and deep, before pulling away from that sensation.

“You know, if we don’t hurry up, we’re going to spend all night here cleaning up beer bottles,” she says, dismissively, ending the conversation just like that.

She walks past Steve to the sink, washes the last of the glasses, and wipes her hand. She makes her way back to the couch, lifts Peter into her arms so carefully, holding him against her chest, and makes her way back to her room without giving him a second look.

* * *

The next morning, she wakes up to no small body snuggling up beside her in bed.

There’s a brief, acid chill of panic clawing up her throat, and she climbs to her feet. She’s in a tank and a pair of athletic shorts, and she throws open the door, striding out like she has nothing else in the world to care about.

Peter and Steve are in the lounge, on one of the sofas, and they have miles and miles of paper lying in front of them, and pencils rolling all over them.

“What’s going on?” she asks, her voice coming out like she’s grinding stone, rubbing the back of her neck.

Peter lifts his head and stares at her over the back of the couch. “Amma!” he cries with delight.

Something golden swells up in her chest, at the sight of her boy always being so happy to see her.

She wonders if all mothers are addicted to this particular emotion.

“We’re drawing, Amma!” he tells her, beaming up at her.

She pads forward to run her hand over his hair and ruffles it.

“Steve gave me some paper and some pencils, and we’re drawing,” he tells her. “Steve is such a good drawer, Amma, did you know that?”

“I did, baby,” Toni murmurs. “I told you, I used to know Steve a long time ago. He was always such a good drawer.” She clears her throat and looks over at Steve, focusing somewhere on his forehead so she doesn’t have to stare into those blue, blue eyes. “Is there a bathroom or something? I’d like to brush my teeth, and Peter should brush his too.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Steve says, quickly. “I’ll take you there. You guys can, uh, you can use our bathroom.”

“Ensuite privileges,” Toni mutters under her breath, as she hefts Peter into his arms. “How did we ever get so lucky?”

Steve ignores her.

He leads them to a bedroom, and he opens the door, slowly, crack by crack, as if he’s checking for something on the inside before he lets them in.

To be fair, Toni totally wouldn’t be impressed if he swung open the door to reveal a naked Bucky doing push-ups or something – okay, she might get a little turned on, because she hasn’t seen Bucky’s body in years, but she’s seen enough to know that she likes it, but she’s pretty sure in this particular situation, allowing her infant son to see a naked adult man is probably smack-dab in the middle of child endangerment or a similar offence and too many people have questioned her ability to be a mother without making her a little too paranoid.

But Bucky’s still sleeping. The covers are draw up to his waist, and his stump is free, lying across the sheets, and his head is turned to side, snoring softly. At the sight of his stump, Peter shifts closer to her, hiding half behind her ankle, like he’s afraid.

Toni’s never had the amputation talk with him before.

“Do you mind going in quick?” Steve asks, shifty in a way that makes her think that he’d be shielding Bucky from their eyes if he could. “There’s a couple of spare, unpacked toothbrushes under the sink.”

She doesn’t blame him at all. If she was on the other side of this situation, faced with a virtual stranger and her little kid staring at her partner in such a vulnerable position, she’d shield him too.

“Yeah, of course,” she says, softly, taking Peter’s hand. “Come on, baby. Let’s do this quick.”

She ushers him into the bathroom, and she shuts the door behind them. She hefts Peter onto the skin and pulls out a toothbrush from underneath the sink, pulling it free of the plastic and the cardboard, running it under the water until the bristles become soft. She finds the toothpaste on the counter, with some of the paste clumped together outside the hole. She wipes it off with a small, soft noise of disgust, running her hands under the water.

She squeezes a sizeable lump onto the toothbrush and hands it over to Peter, who immediately sticks it into his mouth and starts brushing.

“Spit,” she orders.

Peter spits out into the sink. He cups his hand under the tap and swallows down the water, rinsing out his mouth and spitting again into the sink. She lets him sit on the edge, swinging his legs back and forth, while she brushes her own teeth, and she washes her face, so that gunk gets out of her eyes and she feels like she can breathe easier. Then, she repeats that for Peter, and he stomachs it with the tolerance of a boy who loves his mother very much.

“Amma?” he asks, in a small, uncertain voice.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” she says, untying her hair and retying it in a bun high above her head, so that the ends don’t tickle the nape of her neck.

“I saw Bucky in the bed.”

Peter hesitates for an agonising moment.

Toni angles her entire body to face him, so he knows that she’s listening to him, that the full force of her focus is all on him.

“He doesn’t have an arm, Amma,” Peter tells her, chewing at his lower lip. “He’s missing his right arm. There’s nothing after the elbow.”

“Yes, I noticed that,” Toni sighs.

“What happened to him, Amma?” Peter asks with those bright, enormous eyes.

“Well, Bucky and Steve were soldiers, you know, like Uncle Rhodey,” Toni tells him.

“Did they fly planes?”

“No, they were on the ground,” Toni tells him and then perches herself lightly on the edge of the sink beside Peter, so she can run her hand through his hair. “They were fighting on the ground, and Bucky got into an accident.”

“Like when I fell out of the tree?” Peter asks, curiously.

“Yes, like that. Unfortunately, his arm was really badly damaged in the accident. If they’d kept it like that, he might have died,” Toni muses, and there’s something in her chest that cracks at her thought.

She knows she shouldn’t care, she knows it should be above her worry now, but all she can think about is Bucky, lying in the sand, bleeding out, face twisted in agony, needing her (because of course, he needed her in that moment – she can do things that most people can’t, she can make things happen that hardly anyone can, she has money and power and favours and prestige on her side and what is the point of all of that, what is the _use_ of it, if she can’t use to help those who are important to her, and even as she hated him, even as she _hates_ him for what he did to her, Bucky has always been important to her) and dying there, miles away, countries away, oceans away, and she wouldn’t have even known; she wouldn’t have been there, and she wouldn’t have even known he was dead or that he needed her until it was too late.

She shouldn’t care, but she does.

“Oh,” Peter says, in a small voice. “Is that why they had to cut off his arm? Because it would’ve been worse to keep it?”

“Yeah, honey. That’s why.”

“Could he get a new arm?” Peter asks, curiously.

“Well, they do have things like that. They’re called prosthetics. Can you say the word for me?” Toni asks, kindly. “Pros-thet-ics.”

Peter mouths the syllables wordlessly. “Prosthetics,” he says, uncertainly, with just the slightest lisp around the third syllable.

“That was very good,” Toni says, with a smile that only belongs to her son. “So, about prosthetics. They do make them. Actually, Stark Industries makes them, for soldiers, particularly.”

“Are you they like robot arms?” Peter asks, his brow furrowing. “Like Luke Skywalker?”

Toni cracks a smile. “Sometimes. Sometimes, they’re just metal; sometimes, they’re wood? Uh, but the ones that we make, that _I_ make, they are more like a robot arm.”

“Oh,” Peter says, swinging his legs back and forth. “Amma?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“If Bucky’s your friend, why didn’t you make him a robot arm?” Peter asks, innocently.

His words, innocuous though they maybe, twist a sharp, rusty knife in her gut.

“Well, that’s because I didn’t know,” she says, honestly. “I didn’t know that Bucky had lost his arm until very recently. He wears something to fill the space in his clothes, and I hadn’t realised.”

“Are you going to make him one now?”

“I can offer, but he might say no,” Toni tells him.

“I don’t think he will,” Peter says, confidently.

Toni arches an eyebrow. “Oh? Why do you say that?”

“Because he’s your friend,” Peter says, simply. “He likes you. He’ll say yes.”

A long, breathless second heaves against her lungs. “You’re a very sweet boy, Peter.”

Peter’s ears turn red. “Amma!” he whines, and she laughs.

“Okay, come on,” she picks him up, letting him stand on the floor, and rinses the already clean sink once more for good measure. “Did you need to go to the bathroom?”

Peter shakes his head. “No.”

“Okay, good. Wash your face one last time.”

Peter rolls his eyes, but he does as she asks obediently and dries his own face with the hand towel. She unlocks the door and steps out.

Bucky is no longer sleeping. He’s on his feet in the corner of the room, some ways away from Steve, dragging his bare foot against the timber flooring, his head ducked down, and he’s hiding his amputated arm, the stump hanging bare. She can see the scarring on his shoulder, a dark, angry red webbing stretching from his collarbone to the edge of his shoulder and swirling back towards his shoulder blade.

She sucks in a sharp breath at the sight, her face folding in torment.

Bucky catches her looking, and his lip curls up self-deprecatingly. Still, he manages to flash a strained, stricken smile at her, as if he’s trying to make _her_ feel better about the situation, instead of the other way around.

She feels that acid rush of self-loathing, and she returns his smile, as best as she can, her own sudden and brittle and nowhere near to reaching her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she apologises to both of them. “I shouldn’t have… we took a long time in the bathroom. We’ve imposed, I’m sorry.”

Steve musters up an awkward smile for her. “That’s okay. We understand.”

She wonders if they heard her talking to Peter, explaining Bucky’s injury; she wonders if they’re okay with that, with her having that conversation with her son.

She sees the way that Steve angles his body, half in front of Bucky, as if he’s protecting him, protecting him from Toni and the chaos and the rush of good and bad emotion that she brings in her wake, and something crumbles in her chest, because that’s good, right? It’s a good thing that Steve and Bucky have survived all of this, that their love survived, that their love was enough for Bucky. It’s a good thing they have each other.

It’s a good thing that Steve loves Bucky enough that he’d protect him from her, even if once, maybe, if she dares hope and she wishes history would rewrite itself, he loved her too. It’s a good thing that they have each other, even if she’s alone.

And really, she’s not alone either; she has Rhodey, who is her _person_ , who loves her better than any boyfriend or girlfriend or lover ever could, who is the other half in her in another body, and whom she loves better than she could anyone else but her son, and she has Pepper, who would walk through fire, who would go over a cliff for her, who is her greatest champion and her greatest warrior and her right-hand woman, and she has Happy, who knows what she likes and knows all of her quirks and loves her anyway.

But above everything and all, she has Peter, which is the greatest love she has in this world, because he is the one thing that makes her life better, worth living, because he features in every single one of her nightmares because it’s like every terrible monster out there knows that he is the way to get to her, because he looks up at her like he trusts her more than anyone else in this universe, because he wholeheartedly believes she can make any bad day, any terrible thing, everything, frankly, better, because he smiles at her with the same smile he makes when he’s eating chocolate, because she would burn cities to the ground for him; she has hurt people for Peter, and she would do it again, she would do it a hundred-thousand times over again if it means protecting her son. She loves Peter the best, the most, and it’s an emotion that fills her up right until her lungs are bursting with it.

But when she thinks that, she realises that Steve is protecting Bucky from her, and she didn’t realise that she’d become a villain, so quickly, so easily to them; she hadn’t realised that she was a villain in their story.

They were villains in hers, but she hadn’t realised she was a villain in theirs.

She’s not the first to act, she’s ashamed to say, because she is very rarely floundering for words, very rarely bereft of something to do or say; she is a woman who acts, who does, who talks. She is very rarely silent, so she’s ashamed she doesn’t make the first move.

It’s Peter, who rushes forward, and she sees the panic clawing at Bucky’s throat, like he doesn’t know how to react at a whirlwind rushing right for him, and that’s what Peter can be sometimes – sometimes, he throws people off their game, even if he’s only four, and they don’t know what to do or what to say.

But if Bucky fears that Peter is about to attack him, he’s wrong. All Peter does is throw his arms around Bucky’s legs, hugging him as hard as he can with his small body.

Bucky looks terrified, and he lands a hand on Peter’s hair, like he’s afraid to touch Peter too hard, like he thinks he might break him.

“It’s okay, Bucky,” Peter says, in his small, child’s voice.

Bucky’s brow furrows in confusion.

“Amma’s gonna make you a prosthetic,” he says, lisping the middle syllable in the last word.

Bucky looks even more confused, and then, Steve goes absolutely pale, like he absolutely does not know what’s going on here.

If it makes them feel better, Toni’s feeling pretty much the same way.

“You don’t have to do that,” Bucky manages to say, his voice strangled and quiet.

Toni takes a deep, steadying breath. There are a thousand ways she can play this; she can take the out, if she wants, the out he’s offering her; she can play the bitch and make some sharp, biting comment about how _of course_ she’s going to make the prosthetic and act like they’re morons for even suggesting otherwise; she can be indifferent and pretend like it’s a money-making venture for her and a good engineering opportunity for her; or, finally, she can be a decent, sensitive person and confess to them that she wants to do this, that she wants nothing more than to build Bucky a working, beautiful prosthetic that he can be proud of.

“Don’t be silly,” she says, sternly, fixing him with a grim look. “Of course I’ll make you a prosthetic. You might have forgotten, or maybe you don’t know, but Stark Industries actually works in medical prosthetics. It’s something that I already do. It’s not a hardship.”

Bucky gives a slow nod, smiling so softly, unbearably soft, at Peter still hugging at his legs.

“Besides…” she licks her lips, the situation suddenly awkward. “You guys have done so much for us already. You saved my life and you saved Peter’s life. Let me… let me do this for you.”

Bucky stares at her, like he’s peeling her apart just to see where this show of generosity and benevolence is coming from.

“Okay,” he finally says, his voice quiet.

“Maybe if things weren’t so complicated, you might have come to me yourselves,” she murmurs.

When she looks up, Bucky’s face is pale and has a sickly-looking flush to it. “Toni, that’s not… that’s not what-”

“It’s okay,” she says, quickly, before he can say anything else that will make her feel like worse, some stupid platitude so she doesn’t feel like that sad, clinging moron who still bears such resentment, such greed and such possessiveness towards two guys who broke her heart when she was a teenager. “You don’t need to say anything else. We’ve, uh, we’ve imposed on you guys for too long. I’m sure you want to get ready for the day. We’ll, uh, we’ll leave you to it. Peter?”

Peter extracts his arms from Bucky’s legs and looks at her, questioningly.

“Time to go, huh? Let’s let them get ready. They probably need to have showers.”

Steve cracks a weak smile. “You know we have our showers in the night, right?” he says in a teasing tone.

Peter’s face screws up. “Why would you ever have a shower in the night?” he asks, tilting his head in confusion. “Don’t you feel all gross when you get out of bed?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s much easier, because you get all gross during the day,” Steve explains. “And the shower helps with that.”

Peter blinks at him, slow and wide. “Why don’t you just have a shower after you get up and one in the night?” he asks, innocently.

Steve pauses. “You know, I don’t really have an intelligent answer for that.”

“That’s what you get for trying to outwit my genius four-year-old,” Toni sighs, conspiratorially. “Don’t worry, you’re not the first person to fall flat on their face at Peter’s resounding logic.”

Peter nods. “Amma says that I am a battering ram of logic,” he explains. He frowns. “I don’t know what a battering ram is,” he says, with a pout.

Toni runs a hand over his hair. “It’s those big columns that builders use to break down walls,” she explains.

“Oh,” Peter says, in a voice that makes her think that he still doesn’t quite understand it.

“Come on, baby. Let’s go back to the lounge and we can draw some more, so Bucky and Steve can get ready for the day.”

She offers a hand, and Peter skips over and takes it, obediently. She offers them one last half-smile before walking out of the room.

She breathes a little easier when she’s not in near proximity to Steve or Bucky.

* * *

Any goodwill she might have built with Steve and/or Bucky immediately evaporates, actually disintegrates and blows up in a fiery explosion, by the afternoon.

She’s in the kitchen, fixing Peter a sandwich, when she hears a shout. She drops the plate onto the counter with a clatter, and she’s running, running, with her chest hurting, and she finds them in the lounge, Peter and Steve and Bucky.

The coffee table is broken, in pieces and all over the floor, splinters of wood everywhere. Peter is on the floor, and he’s crying, big, wet sobs, that drip down his cheeks, his small, whole body shaking with the force of his tears.

She’s skidding around the side of the couch, and Peter lifts his head, seeing her, and he cries even harder, if that’s even possible.

“Amma!” he shouts, stretching out his arms.

She sees it then, his knee, the way it looks, cut up with wood splinters, and rivulets of blood running down his calf.

For a brief moment, she doesn’t know how to breathe, the sight of the injury making something tight wrap around her ribs and clench down, the urge to cry rearing its ugly head, an unfortunate consequence of being a mother, she’d quickly realised, after Peter was born (when he’d cry, she’d cry, she couldn’t help herself; all she could think was that he was hurting, and she couldn’t do anything).

She lands on the floor beside him, mindful of the broken coffee table, her mouth as dry sawdust.

“Oh, no, baby, what happened?” she whispers, winding her arms around him and lifting him into her lap, so she could look at his knee closer.

Peter tucks his face into her neck, and the tears come harder. She brushes his hair out of his sweat-damp face, murmuring soothing words.

“My knee hurts, Amma,” he whispers into her shoulder.

“I know, I know, honey,” she tells him, a nervous, pained knot forming in the pit of her throat. “It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.” She looks up at Steve and Bucky, her expression severe. “What happened?” she demands, her voice cutting like a knife, with such an edge to it.

Steve looks absolutely flummoxed, gaping at the scene in disbelief. “I don’t… I don’t even know what happened. I don’t… the table broke, and he tripped, and he must have landed in some of the splinters, and he was shouting, so loud, and we lifted him out of it as quickly as possible, but his knee… it…”

“How did the table break?” she asks, pulling herself to together.

She doesn’t have the luxury of sinking into panic. If she isn’t brave, how can she expect Peter to be brave? He needs to know that everything’s going to be fine, that she can make everything okay, that she can make the pain go away, and if she starts sobbing like a hysterical moron, as much as she wants to, as much as she wants to lean into her grief.

She braves a smile for him, hoping that he doesn’t realise that it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“You’re gonna be just fine,” she tells him, pressing her lips to his hairline.

“My knee hurts,” he complains, his mouth trembling.

“I know, I know.”

“I don’t know how the table broke,” Bucky says, his voice thin and high with panic. “The leg must have been loose, and we put a little weight on it, and it just crumbled.”

Fury crackles like a forest fire within her, just needing a single spark. “Okay, okay,” she says, recovering, forcing herself to remain calm. “Um, I need hot water, bandages, a clean cloth, and antiseptic. You got that stuff.”

“Yeah, yes,” Steve says, quickly.

“Okay, move, move, _move_ ,” she snaps, and it gets them moving, reacting, rushing out the door.

Peter giggles, even if his eyes are wet and shining. “They were scared of you,” he says, amused.

“They were,” Toni agrees.

“They ran out of here really fast.”

“They did.”

“Are you gonna cut my leg off?” Peter asks, afraid.

“What? No, no, no,” Toni says, quickly, smoothly. “No, baby, it just needs to be cleaned up a bit, and then we’ll put some bandages on it, and it’ll heal, it’ll be just fine.”

“You promise?” Peter says, pouting.

“I promise.”

“Pinky promise?” Peter holds out his little finger.

Toni joins his finger with her own. “Pinky promise,” she says, gently.

“Okay,” Peter says, contented, and snuggles up to her.

Steve and Bucky re-enter the room, practically tripping over themselves to hand her the supplies – she wonders how many children they come into contact with, wonders if this is the first time that they’ve ever seen a child get injured; it wouldn’t surprise her.

“Okay, so I’m gonna clean it out now, with the water, okay?” she explains to Peter. “It’s gonna hurt when I do that, but Steve here, Steve’s gonna give you his hand to hold,” she shoots Steve a stern look, who immediately crouches in front of the sofa, right in front of Peter. “Steve’s gonna give you his hand, and you squeeze it as tight as you want, you squeeze it so tight, okay. And you cry as much as you want.”

“And you know what,” Bucky interjects, dragging one of the armchairs closer. “You know what, if holding Steve’s hand isn’t enough, you can kick me.”

Peter blinks at him. “Really?” he asks, in a small voice, sniffling.

“Yeah, you kick me right here, okay,” Bucky replies, pointing at his abdomen. “You kick me as much as you want, as hard as you want. We’ll be right here, all of us. You’re not alone, okay.”

Peter’s face sets with resolve, an expression he has years ahead of when he should, and he nods, stoically. “I can do this,” he promises. “I’m a brave boy.”

“You are, you are so brave,” Toni says, sweetly.

She gets out the bottle of hot water that Steve and Bucky had brought her, and she opens the cap. She hesitates for an agonising moment, with the bottle held mid-air, and she braces herself, before dribbling down lines of hot water over Peter’s scraped-up knee.

Peter immediately starts screaming, a high-pitched, hysterical sound that splits the air, and makes something well up in Toni’s throat, close to tears.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she soothes and dabs at the wounds with a cotton ball.

“Amma, Amma, it _hurts_!” Peter shouts, the tendon in his neck straining against the skin, as he clutches at Steve’s hand tight.

“I know, I know, baby,” Toni takes a deep breath. “I know, it’ll be… I just need to clean this up. If I don’t… if I don’t, it might get infected.”

“Remember, Pete,” Bucky soothes, flesh hand curling around Peter’s thin little ankle. “Kick me, come on. Kick me.”

Peter shakes his head, his eyes big and fat with tears. “Amma said it’s bad to hurt people,” he whines. “I can’t kick you.”

“I’m okay with it,” Bucky reassures.

“No!” Peter shouts, glaring at him.

“Okay, okay,” Bucky says, softly. “You just tell me what you want to do.”

Once the wound is dry, she pours enough of the antiseptic onto a couple of cotton balls.

“Okay, sweetheart, this is going to hurt worse than the water.”

“No, no,” Peter gasps, his voice wet, as he tries to jerk his leg away from her.

Bucky keeps it held there, on his lap.

“It’s okay, it’s just antiseptic,” she says, holding up the cotton which is smeared with red. “It’s so the wound gets cleaned.”

“You did that with the water!” he protests.

“This will get the bacteria away from the wound,” she explains, swallowing a mouthful of bile. “So, it won’t get infected later, as it starts to heal. You remember when we talked about bacteria?”

Peter nods, still sniffling. “I remember.”

“Exactly, so you know how bad it is when bacteria gets into wounds, right?” Toni cajoles.

“But there’s good bacteria,” Peter tells her, snidely. “Like in Kom-kombucha,” he says, stumbling over the last word.

“The bacteria that might get into your knee from the table isn’t like the good bacteria in Kombucha, baby. These bacteria might hurt you. So, I need you to be so, so brave for me right now; can you do that?”

Peter sobs a little, quietly. “I’m a brave boy,” he insists.

“Yes, you are.” Toni sends a careful look towards Steve and Bucky.

Steve nods at her. _I’ve got him,_ he mouths at her.

“Okay, okay,” Toni takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Let’s do this.”


	7. vii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: explicit sexual content, misunderstandings, arguments.

She dabs the antiseptic across the wounds, each of the little cuts where the splinters of wood had pierced the skin.

Peter’s scream, this time, is louder, a shriek, pealing through the air, and it makes her ears hurt.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she mumbles, pleading and pained, as she meticulously covers each inch of the wound on his knee with the antiseptic.

“No, _Amma_ , stop, please _stop_!” he shouts in her ear.

Toni winces, but she pushes on.

She’s done in a few minutes, and she puts it aside in a bowl that she’ll get rid of when she’s done. There’s a strong, sterile smell to the room now, and she leans down to press a kiss just under the wound.

“I’m so sorry, baby, it’s done, now, it’s done.”

“It still hurts,” Peter complains, his face sticky with tears. “You _hurt_ me.”

Toni closes her eyes, the knot growing in her throat.

“I’m so sorry,” Toni says, feeling like an absolute monster. “I’m so sorry, Peter.”

Peter rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands, a stubborn look on his face. “You _hurt_ me, Amma,” he accuses in that thin, high, child’s voice.

“I’m so sorry,” Toni almost sobs, peeling the bandage from its plastic packet.

She wraps it carefully around his knee, once, then twice, finding one of those bandage clips in the stockpile they’d brought for her. She makes it tight, but not too tight that his circulation is cut off.

“Is that too tight? Does it hurt?” Toni asks, the smile coming easy as it takes form on her face.

“My knee hurts,” Peter whispers.

“I mean, the bandage, baby. Does the bandage hurt? Is it too tight?”

“No.” Peter shakes his head.

He shuffles carefully until he can climb into her lap fully, his head tucked underneath his chin. Steve sensing that the storm has passed, untangles his hand from Peter’s, and Bucky slides down to the floor in relief.

Toni fixes them with a tired, measured look, like the life’s been sucked out of her.

“Don’t suppose you have children’s Tylenol?”

Steve shakes his head wordlessly.

“Yeah,” Toni sighs. “Thought so.”

Toni wraps her arms around Peter, letting his head rest on her forearm, and she kisses the crown of his head.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, rocking them back and forth. “We’ll clean you up every day, change the bandages, and you’ll be good as new in a couple of days.”

“You promise?” Peter leans to peer at her with those big, dark eyes.

“I promise,” Toni swears, smoothing her thumb under his eyes.

Peter leans up, mindful of his knee, and throws his arms around her neck, kissing her wetly on the cheek.

“I’m sorry I said you hurt me,” he says, shyly, planting his hands on her cheeks, smushing them together. “It hurt, but I’m okay now.”

Toni’s face splits in a sad grin. “You’re a brave boy, sweetheart.”

Peter throws his arms around her shoulders again and kisses her.

“Can I go and play?” he asks, hopefully. “Bucky and Steve bought me Legos.”

“Oh.” Toni’s face flickers with surprise. “Did they?” she turns her eyes onto the men in question.

“We thought… we thought he’d get bored,” Bucky says, weakly.

“Ah,” Toni says, nodding. “Okay, yes, you can,” she tells him.

She lifts him up in her arms, mindful of the broken pieces of the table strewn across the floor. She takes him around the side of the couch towards the door to the lounge and lets him climb down to the ground.

“You can walk?” she asks, deliberately.

Peter nods. “It hurts, but I’ll be careful,” he tells her.

“Good, and keep the door open, and you tell me if you want anything, okay?”

Peter scuffs his foot against the ground. “Can you come and play with me?” he asks, his face shining with hope.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says, smiling bright. “Of course I will. Let me just clean up first so no one else gets hurt. And then, I’ll come and play with you, okay?”

Peter nods and salutes her, cheekily,

Toni sighs. “Rhodey is bad influence on you.”

“Uncle Rhodey is _awesome_!” Peter declares.

Toni leans down and ruffles his hair, something soft and fond growing frightfully large in her lungs.

“Go on,” she urges.

Peter grins up at her, with her own smile, and walks off towards their room, humming one of the Wiggles songs to himself.

Toni watches him go with a smile on her face, and she turns around to see Steve and Bucky collapsed on the floor, their faces pale and dazed.

“Holy shit,” Bucky declares, breathlessly.

Toni laughs a little.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he says, peering up at Toni with those pale, flashing eyes. “I just…I don’t know how you do it.”

Toni shrugs. “You get used to it, being a mother.”

Steve shakes his head, running his hands through his hair until it’s all mussed up and golden on top of his head. “When he started screaming, it was like my life was leaving my body,” he comments, gaping in disbelief.

Bucky nods, blinking slow and wide. “I just thought… I thought he was like… fuck, the way he screamed, you’re right, I thought I was going to die. My chest seized up, and I went all cold, and-and… I don’t know how you do it.”

Toni lets her lips stretch out into a smile. “That’s what being a mother is all about,” she says, gently. “Every time, something is wrong, he gets sick, he gets hurt, I am terrified. My hands shake and I want to start crying, but… if I do that, he gets even more scared, it hurts him more to see me hurt. So, I can’t do that. I don’t have the luxury of being afraid, because I have to make him feel better. That’s more important than anything I’m feeling. You know, when he was born, he wouldn’t stop crying through the night. He’s not fussy much anymore, but when he was a newborn, he wouldn’t stop crying, and every time he cried, _I’d_ cry too. I thought I was doing something wrong. I thought I was screwing up somehow. I thought he deserved a much better mother than me, someone who could actually make him stop crying. And then, Jarvis, Jarvis was the one to tell me that I should feel like that, I should feel like my heart’s in my throat all the time with him; that’s what makes me a good mother.” She drags her teeth over her lower lip, thoughtfully. “For what it’s worth, you both did good.”

Steve gives her an incredulous look. “Seriously?”

“I’m serious. You were calm and patient and kind. You gave him something to distract him. You were willing to let him hold your hand as tight as possible or even let him kick him, if it means distracting him from the pain. That’s all you can do. You can’t take away the pain from him, as much as you may want to.”

“You’re a good mother, Toni,” Bucky says, with a faint, untroubled smile.

Toni feels her skin heat up in response. “Thank you,” she says, almost shyly, like she’s still a little girl and this is her first time letting a boy take off her clothes. “Uh, so, you bought him Legos?”

Steve perks up. “Yeah, we just thought… like, we don’t know how long you guys will be here, so we thought… he should have something to play with.”

“Legos are expensive,” Toni says, quietly, worrying her teeth on her lower lip. “I can pay you back for whatever you spent,” she offers.

Those pale eyes of Bucky’s flash. “We’re not poor, Toni,” he says, his voice low and clear. “You don’t have to treat us like we can’t afford to buy fucking Legos.”

“That’s not I was saying at all,” Toni argues. “I was just saying… he’s _my_ son. If anyone’s going to buy him toys, it should be me. It’s an unnecessary expense for you.”

“Why, because you think we can’t take it?” Bucky demands.

“No, because he’s not _your_ kid!” Toni snaps.

For a minute, the silence is suffocating, and she remembers, being a newlywed and loving Ty and being pregnant, feeling the life inside her kick for the first time, a tiny little flutter in her gut, and wondering what her life might have been like, if she’d stayed with Bucky and Steve, what their children would have been like, wondered what life might have been like if this child inside her was actually Steve or Bucky’s.

That was a dream, though, and dreams had no place in her life anymore.

Steve and Bucky look pale as crushed pearls, and she has the sudden urge to apologise, to take it back.

Toni runs her tongue over her lower lip. “I should, uh… Peter wants me to go and play with him. I should go and play with him.”

She flees, leaving them there.

* * *

That night, she puts Peter to bed, tucking the covers around him, making sure that his knee is adequately protected. He’d stopped complaining about the pain a few hours previously, and now, he only whined a little when his knee bent, and the dressing stretched tight across the wound.

She watches him for a moment, his peaceful, sleeping face, all soft with baby fat. Her lungs expand with emotion, and she reaches out to brush his hair out of his eyes.

She climbs off the bed and heads towards the door. She makes her way through the corridors until she reaches Steve and Bucky’s room. Her hand hovers mid-air before she steels her nerve, and she raps her knuckles against the door.

Bucky opens the door, his face flickering with surprise when he sees that it’s her on the other side.

“Toni?” he says, curiously.

“Hi, sorry, am I disturbing you?” she says, awkwardly.

“No, uh, no,” Bucky says, licking his lips. “Do you, uh, do you want to talk? Is there something wrong?”

“Yeah, actually, do you mind if I come in?” Toni asks, rocking back on her heels.

Bucky blinks at her, slow and wide, like he’s trying to decipher exactly why she might want to see them, talk to them, come into their room.

For their part, it does seem like the neat little opening to a porn video.

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky replies and steps aside for her to slink through.

Once she’s inside, the door to the bathroom opens, and Steve is padding through, wrapping a towel around his waist, knotting it at his tapered hipbone.

“Shit,” Steve hisses, and the towel almost falls to the floor.

Toni’s eyes immediately fly skyward, and she covers them with her hand, but not before she catches a hint of a thatch of golden hair.

“Sorry, sorry,” Steve stutters.

“No, no, I’m the one that came in-”

“Let me just, uh, let me just get dressed-”

“I can come back later or another time-”

“Oh, God, would both of you shut up?” Bucky says, his voice full of scorn. “Steve, go back into the bathroom and put some clothes on. Toni, I have water, would you like some water?”

“I’d love some water,” she says, her voice an octave higher than it should. Be.

Steve flees into the bathroom, shutting it behind him with a resounding thwack. When he emerges, minutes later, while Toni is a third into her bottle of water, he’s wearing a pair of jeans and a tight t-shirt that shows every glorious muscle on his glorious body.

“Sorry about that,” Steve says, sheepishly, his neck still damp with water from his shower.

“Don’t be,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m the one that barged into your bedroom.”

Bucky scoffs. “You didn’t barge in anywhere; you knocked on the door, and I let you in,” he points out.

“Still,” Toni says, awkwardly.

“What did you, uh, what did you want to talk about?” Steve asks.

“I just… look, before, if you thought I was making a dig at your finances, I wasn’t,” she says, firmly, undertaking that no-nonsense, mercurial picture of herself that makes men of industry quake in their perfectly polished, Armani shoes. “I wasn’t… look, I’m just… I’m not used to people doing things for me or for my son without expecting something in return. I get… a little protective and I have plenty of pride, which means, coupled with a lot of money, means that I get my hackles up when people buy things for my son.”

“That’s not-that’s not what we were trying to do at all,” Steve says, quietly. “We just… we just wanted to do something nice for him. He’s a really good kid.”

“He is,” Toni agrees, almost immediately.

“How’s he feeling?” Bucky asks.

“He’s good. He’s a kid; he gets into scrapes all of the time, because he has all this energy and…” Toni trails off. “The point is that it was bound to happen sometime. Maybe, hell, maybe it’s karmic punishment.”

“I’m sorry?” Steve asks, with a furrowed brow.

“I mean, like for bringing him here, for involving him in all of this,” Toni explains, dragging her hand over her face. “I shouldn’t have done that; I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have brought him here. What sort of mother brings her four-year-old son around mobsters?”

She says it without thinking, and she doesn’t mean for it to sound so derisive, either. When she looks at them, their brow is furrowed, their mouths pinched in a taut line.

“Well, it’ll be hard because we’re mobsters and everything, but we’ll try to be good, upstanding role models for your kid, Toni,” Steve replies, his voice cold.

“That’s not…” she closes her eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

“That’s what you said,” Bucky points out. “You said that it was a bad idea for you to bring your four-year-old near mobsters, because we’re such horrible people.”

“I never said _horrible_!” Toni protests. “Now, you’re actually putting words in my mouth. And yeah, you know what, I’m pretty sure this falls under exposing your children to unhealthy influences.”

“Why, because we kill people?” Bucky demands.

“Yeah, for a start,” Toni shoots back, which is such a hollow retort, because all she can see behind her eyes is Ty, lying in that bed, going blue and swollen as she watches.

“You would’ve killed that guy who had his hands around you throat in your office, and you know that,” Bucky grinds out. “You’re not so different.”

“Not so different?” Toni lifts an eyebrow, with a hard, reckless smile. “I run a company; I don’t kill people for a living. That thing in my office was a one-off incident. I’m not usually almost killed my ex-employees with a grudge. You, on the other hand…” she trails off, purposefully, easy to slip into fury where they’re concerned.

“You don’t kill people for a living?” Steve says, with a viper’s smile, his expression jagged. “You sure about that? Aren’t you in the business of peddling guns and weapons and bombs to the US military so they can go overseas and kill people with them?”

That old dig, that old insecurity, that old blow to her conscience is like spark for the kindling, and her fury crackles like forest fire.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she grinds out.

“Don’t we? Because we were there, Toni. While you sat in your Fifth Avenue penthouse with your papery shell of a husband and your black-label whiskey and your health spa retreats, we were out there, fighting for our country, killing people, watching our friends die and get hurt and coming back in pieces, and all of that was done with weapons _you_ made,” Steve says, grimly. “But hey, if that makes us shitty role models for your kid, well, why do you care, Toni? Because this is just temporary, right? You go home, once we figure out who’s after you, both you and your kid, and you don’t have to think about us ever again. But don’t you fucking dare stand there and pretend like you’re so much fucking better than us?”

Toni is ashamed to say that her lower lip trembles. “So, that’s what you think of me?” she says, her voice rasping like a dragging chain.

_Don’t cry, don’t cry, Antonia. Starks are made of iron._

_They haven’t changed. They’d still hurt you to make themselves feel better in a pinch. You are worthless to them, you always have been, just a warm body to fuck and lose themselves in and maybe, just for a moment, pretend they aren’t totally gay. You thought things would be different now that you were all older, but it’s not. It’s still the same. You will always be the same teenage girl to them, and you will always be fun, just a bit of fun to keep things interesting between them, and you fell for it, again, you fell for it like something could be salvaged between you three after what happened all those years ago, like maybe they could want you now, for something more than just cheap sex and maybe a convenient credit card when they needed it._

_They don’t love you; they don’t want you. They never did, no matter what you thought, no matter what they made you believe. And they never will. This proves it. they hate you; they hate everything you stand for._

Anger beats within her.

“I knew it, I _knew_ you hadn’t changed, either of you. I knew you were still the same _assholes_ who turned their backs on me a decade ago. I knew I shouldn’t have come here. I knew I shouldn’t have _trusted_ you,” she says, delirious with rage.

“ _Us_? You think you should trust us?” Bucky snaps. “Oh, I think you’ve got that the whole other way around, doll.”

Toni bares the razor line of her teeth. “Are you seriously rewriting history over here, trying to make it sound like _you two_ were the victims?”

“We were the victims!” Bucky roars at her, a black, thundering visage staring back at her.

For a brief moment, every inch of her seizes up in fear, and she remembers, _fuck_ , she remembers Ty coming at her in that shower, while she stood there naked and tried to defend herself, and he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t stop hurting. He _wanted_ to hurt her. Her eyes drag down to Bucky’s prosthetic hand – _that looks solid_ , she thinks, dazed, her gaze absent, wondering what it would feel like when his fist came down on her; would it break skin, just bruise, leave welt marks, could concealer cover it?

She wonders what Bucky sees in her eyes, those inky-black, over-large eyes of hers, and his face crumples, so quickly and so painfully, and he’s taking a step back, and his hand is loosening at his side, as if he’s trying to remove himself from the realm of threat entirely.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, thickly. “I’m sorry.”

Toni’s fear freezes on her face, turns jagged, and then, it’s all anger, it’s always all anger.

“Don’t be,” she says, with her hard, reckless smile, and then, she’s surging forwards.

She kisses Bucky first – he’s the closest to her, and he practically collapses when she plants her lips on his, wrapping those big arms of his around her much smaller, curvier frame. She winds her arms around his broad shoulders, nails digging into his skin just barely, and lets him slip his tongue into her mouth. She’s rubbing up against him, in one of Natasha’s borrowed pyjamas, like a cat, once delirious with rage, now delirious with lust.

How quickly one changes into another.

She traces the outline of his lower lip with her tongue before sucking it in between her teeth, nipping at it and smiling at how he groans against. Suddenly, her lungs burn, demanding her attention, and she’s forced to pull away. Before she can feel an ounce of shame, she’s turning her head, fixing Steve with an equally aroused look.

He isn’t angry with her; she can tell, by the hot, almost hungry look in his eyes like he wants to eat her up. He grabs a hold of her first and his mouth lands on her with bruising force. Toni moans and scrabbles for his shoulders. Before she even knows what she’s doing, she’s removing that indecently tight white shirt he has on, baring miles and miles of glorious, chiselled physique.

She’d like his old body, the one that was just as tall as her, thinner in places, but so sharp, like a knife, which fit Steve Rogers to T back then, but she supposed that his body now matched his big, big heart, all that righteous anger he had buried within him.

And this one, this one is beautiful, even she has to say.

She hasn’t been celibate since Ty died, but the number of partners she’s had isn’t exactly slut-worthy quality. There was Steve and Bucky when she was a teenager, Ty before them and after them (she always seemed to come straight back to Ty), and she only became a widow recently. Press followed her like flies on a corpse, and she knew that if she walked out of a bar or a club with some airhead hanging on her arm, they’d be branding her a shitty mother and a shitty wife of a dead husband as the headline by the next day.

Besides, the last thing she would do is invite strangers over to her home where her _son_ slept.

But there were times, few and in between, where wine had been involved and she’d gone to sleep and dreamed of the first time that she’d had sex with Steve and Bucky, their hands all over her, their tongues, their cocks, all the things they’d said to them, with those hot, hot eyes.

This feels like that; this feels like coming home to something that you’d forgotten but still fits you like a puzzle piece.

Steve’s hands slide underneath her top, the width of his hands matching her ribcage nicely, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts.

“Off,” she demands. “Take it off.”

Steve groans, and he does what he’s told, coming out from underneath and finding the hem, pulling it off her shoulders and head in one great pull, leaving her naked from the top up.

For a brief moment, she feels her insecurity in a deeply visceral way; she remembers that she no longer has the tight little body she’d had the last time they’d seen her naked. She doesn’t have the firm, high breasts, generous for her small body, the flat belly, the curvy waist and the gap between her soft, shapely thighs. Now, she has stretch marks, a webbing of brownish-silver lines on her belly and breasts and hips, a gift of childbirth. Her breasts are heavier, and they sag, after the wonders of pregnancy and breastfeeding, and there’s a roll of fat on her belly and under her shoulders that she’d never been able to lose, even after strict dieting and regular visits to the gym.

She used to be more self-conscious about it, soon after she’d had the baby and she thought there was no way she’d be wanted in a sexual way ever again – to his credit, Ty hadn’t ever looked at her and called her fat, never looked at her and found her wanting at all. He looked at her and always saw something beautiful and something he’d like to fuck, and he’d fucked her often. He fucked her when she was pregnant, and he fucked her when she was breastfeeding, and he’d fucked her when she was desperate to lose weight, so the tabloids would stop commenting on how long it would take for her to drop the pregnancy pounds, and he’d said, _Annie, God, I don’t know why you’re so fucking obsessed with this shit, you know I think you’re fucking gorgeous, right?_

It was one of the sweetest things that Ty had ever said to her – pity he hadn’t acted the same way in all walks of their marriage.

She wonders, though, she wonders if Bucky and Steve will look at her and remember the teenage girl with the perfect, perky tits and the flat plane of her stomach and the strong thighs and wish they were in bed with _that_ Toni and not this one.

Her throat flexes, and she looks up, her eyes dark, and her teeth digs into her lower lip, watching and waiting.

Steve just stares down at her, something looming behind his eyes, sharp as a knife and molten-hot. He curls that big hand of his around the nape of her neck, a comforting weight that makes her eyes flutter shut, and then, that hand trails down.

And then, his hand trails down the curve of her spine, fingers stopping by the small of her back, just above the dip in her ass. And then, it trails around the slope of her hip, just barely grazing the thatch of dark curls between her legs, before a single finger that goes up between her breasts, making gooseflesh pebble across her skin.

A strong, hard body presses against her back, and she tilts her head, her hair coming into contact with a broad chest and a hand, just as big Steve’s, flattens over her belly, thumb stroking back and forth.

It’s Bucky, staring down at her from behind, his hair tucked behind his ears, his eyes pale and hungry. That hand of his climbs up and up until he’s curving it around one of her breasts, as if testing the weight of it in his palms. Toni sighs, tipping her head back and resting it on his collarbone, as Bucky squeezes, his thumb dragging over her nipple until it’s tight and makes her toes curl with the attention paid to it.

Steve sidles up to her, so that she feels the length of him against her, and she feels that sudden rush of predatory want, settling between her legs. It’s an uncomfortable sensation, but she feels herself drip, and she bites her lip. Her nose juts against the delicate line of his collarbone, inhales his sharp, clean scent, soap and shampoo, and she peers up at him, through the dip of her long eyelashes, teeth sinking into her lower, plump lip.

He cradles her face in his big, deft hands, fingers reaching into her hair, rubbing up against her scalp. Her eyes flutter close, and she has the sudden urge to lean against him, rub up against him like a cat, feline and delirious.

But he kisses her, his mouth slanting over hers, as if he’d never stopped, as if it was just like riding a back, remembering all the things that she likes, how she likes to be kissed and touched and teased and fucked. He tilts her head up, so he doesn’t have to crane his neck down too far, and his mouth moves over hers, not with the sort of skill that comes with picking up people in a bar every night for a quick, dirty fuck against the alley wall, but the skill that comes with being with the same person for years on end, knowing what they like – he’d known her like that once.

It’s like a rush of ice water pouring over her head, seeping into her bones, and she pulls away with a. soft little noise.

“Toni?” he asks, confused, his brow furrowing in the middle.

“I don’t…” she swallows hard. “I don’t want that from you,” she says, before she loses her nerves.

Steve lifts an eyebrow. “You don’t want me to kiss you?”

“I want you to fuck me,” Toni corrects. “Kissing isn’t necessary. Kissing will just…”

_Kissing will fool me into thinking that this is real, that this could be something, that it was always real._

“Kissing will just make thing complicated,” she tells him, chin proudly aloft.

Oh, God, doesn’t that make her feel like a whore.

He doesn’t like that much, judging by the way his jaw clenches down, and even Bucky’s hand on her breast falters.

Maybe she’s said too much, maybe kissing is part of the deal, maybe it has to be, maybe that’s what they want.

If it is, she’ll kindly and unfailingly politely excuse herself and slink away; that’s all.

“Okay,” Steve finally says, and then, his hands are surrounding her hips and he’s lifting her up into the air before she even knows what is happening, her legs kicking fruitlessly.

He throws her onto the bed, and she bounces a little, her hair flying around her head, and she glowers up at him, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

“Seriously?”

Steve shrugs. “You said you didn’t want kissing.”

He crawls on top of her body, the weight of him anchoring her to the bed. His covetous, full gaze lingers on the curve of her throat, the delicate line of her collarbone and the heavy, full swell of her breasts. Her nipples turn diamond-hard, and both Steve and Bucky can’t take their eyes off them.

Toni smiles, her mouth curving soft and hot like a knife through warm butter. She cups one of her breasts in her hand, the heel of her hand against the underside of her breast. Her thumb and index finger close around her nipple and pinch tight, making her moan and shift restlessly on the bed.

And then, she goes to the waistband of the pyjama shorts and rolls it down, along with her underwear, inch by inch, until they’re hanging by her ankles, and she can kick it away, off the bed. She splays her legs open, so they can see every inch of her, the curve of her breasts, her belly, the dark curls between her legs, and her pink, open cunt.

“Fuck,” Bucky rasps, his eyes latched onto her cunt.

Toni slips a hand between her legs, and she’s like crumpled silk there. Steve and Bucky both groan, realising what she’s about to do. She plays with her clit first, rubs soft circles around her the hard, little knot, leans into those brief flashes of pain-pleasure until she feels herself become wet, everything softer, damper, more open, hungrier.

Her hand dips further down, parting her folds, slow and languid, so they can see her cunt properly, all empty and grasping. She tucks her hand there and slides fingers up inside her up to the knuckle, rubbing at her insides, and they come back wet, so wet.

She’s dripping right down to her thighs.

“Fuck it,” Bucky says and he’s crawling onto the bed as well, batting her hand away from her legs.

He ducks his head and puts his mouth on her cunt, and she’s crying out, tipping her head back, the tendon in her throat straining against the skin.

Steve comes around the side of her head, smoothing her hair back, away from her face. His thumb traces the curve of her cheekbone and leans down, until he’s nudging his nose against hers.

For a brief, terrible second, she thinks he’s going to kiss her, and she wonders if she’s going to have to smack him to make him remember the rules of this game.

But then, Bucky’s tongue delves in, licking in deep, and all thoughts leave her head. She’s gasping, fisting her hands in the sheets, and half of her body is hurtling up. Bucky’s tongue is slick and pervasive, eating up every inch of her he can get his hands on. There’s stubble on his jaw, a neat layer of hair there, and it rubs up against her thighs, scratching against the soft skin there, leaving it red and raw.

Her thighs clamp down around his head, and he’s buried his face between her thighs, licking at her cunt until she’s grinding back against his face.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she gasps, nails digging into the sheets, as he presses his face between her legs and licks and licks and licks until she’s screaming.

She’s half in the air, balancing on hands, her wrists twisted. Steve’s arm is thrown around her shoulders, her breastbone, and he keeps her pinned like that, half-up, half-down, never knowing where she should be, as Bucky grins up at her, painfully beautiful in the frame of her thighs, with all of his teeth, cutting jagged lines across his face and hungry, his think, pink mouth wet, and she knows, she knows if she leans down, pushes him away from her cunt, pulls her up to meet her mouth, she’ll taste herself, taste the sharpness of her, with that salt-spray bite.

It would be like laying her claim on him, on a man she has no right to.

He swirls her tongue over her, and she cries out, the sound from the pit of her throat something soft and desperate. She feels like she’s about to topple over, but Steve holds her tight, suspended half in the air just like that. Steve brushes his mouth against the curve of her shoulder, setting his teeth against her skin, scraping and dragging, scraping and dragging, the light touch enough to turn her nipples diamond-hard, to make the goosebumps run across her skin, until she’s a messy ball of feeling and sensation, rocking back and forth on the edge, waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect foreplay to get her to crash.

“You taste just like I remember,” Bucky mutters and then, nips at the dark of her shapely thigh, pulling a sliver of flesh between his teeth like he wants to eat her.

She doesn’t dignify that with a response – if she gets stuck in all the ways she’d wanted them and had them and fucked them, well, she won’t be able to get this done, and she needs this, she needs this distraction, this respite, something to take her out of her fucking head, something to peel her apart like bark so she can slowly, thoughtfully, meticulously put herself back together again.

He licks a wide stripe of her cunt, a rough swipe of his tongue, as if he’s afraid he’ll miss something, and she hisses between her teeth, but when he pulls back, she misses his tongue keenly, barely resisting the urge to push her thighs forward, push her cunt against his mouth.

He chuckles, a rough, wrought sound and then, his mouth is on her again, tongue curling inside her, and then reaching upwards to graze her clit. Steve wraps his arms around her from behind, and those big hands of his surround her breasts. He traces the slope of one with his thumb, and then, he’s reaching around, so far over her shoulder that his hair tickles her skin from where a few strands stick out near his temples, and he runs his tongue over the tip of her nipple.

She sucks in a deep breath, and her thighs shake around Bucky’s neck.

“Oh, honey,” Bucky soothes, running those big hands of his over her legs. “It’s okay, we’ll treat you real nice, won’t we, Stevie?”

Steve’s reply is to pinch her nipple, his thumb and index finger closing around it and pressing it tight, which makes Toni jerk in his grip, her toes curling.

“Shut up and just… fucking eat me out,” she grinds out.


	8. viii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: explicit sexual content, insecurities regarding body image.

Bucky chuckles and returns back to lavishing his tongue on her cunt, his tongue curling inside her once more and rubbing against her insides.

Steve nuzzles at her temple, the strands of their hair, hers pitch black and his golden as the sun, tangling together.

“You like that, huh, Toni? You like Bucky’s tongue inside you, licking you out, tasting you?”

Toni lets her head tip back onto Steve’s shoulder. “Yeah, yeah,” she says, slow and breathlessly.

“It’s okay, we’ll get you there,” Steve murmurs, trailing the tips of his fingers up and down her arm, making the gooseflesh run across her skin fast. “Come on, Buck, don’t leave her hanging.”

Bucky chuckles against her flesh, and he licks over the width of her cunt, from top to bottom, and then, his tongue swirls over her clit, again and again, knowing that it keeps her on the edge of pain-pleasure, knowing that she wants to get away because it’s the sweetest sort of hurt, but he just goes on and on.

She comes like that, and she would have thrashed around on the bed if Steve wasn’t holding her tight, tight against his chest, his arm like a metal band around her ribs, his nose nudging into her hair. Her toes curl, and her cunt clenches over and over again, without anything, and she’s so slick, so wet there, between her legs, the sensation flooding through every nerve and tendon, until she collapses like dead weight against Steve’s chest.

“Fuck,” she declares, when she decides she can have full function of her lungs again.

Bucky pulls away, leaning back on his knees, his mouth plump and pink and wet, and she lunges forward, wrapping her legs around his waist and settling herself in his lap like she was always meant to be there. She moves in closer until their mouths are barely an inch from each other, and she licks at his mouth, tasting the sharp, salt-spray bite of her cunt. He groans, and he tries to deepen the kiss.

She pulls back immediately.

“I told you, no kissing,” she says, sternly.

“You licked my mouth,” Bucky protests.

“Yeah, but I didn’t kiss you,” Toni retorts.

Bucky growls low in his throat, and he lunges forward, knocking her out of Steve’s arms and pinning her to the bed. Despite her fastidious attempt to keep this all sex and no feeling, she finds herself laughing uproariously at the action, her head bouncing on the mattress.

“Don’t be such a sore loser, Barnes,” she says, slyly, staring up at him through his eyelashes.

The lines in Bucky’s face soften, and he brushes her hair out of her face, where they cling to her forehead and eyelashes. The look in his eyes is something fond and soft, something that makes the air tight in her chest, and for a moment, she doesn’t have a sarcastic quip on the tip of her tongue, she can’t seem to engage with that sharp, biting wit of hers.

“I’m going to fuck you first. Is that what you want?” he asks, steady and inexorable.

Toni sucks in a sharp breath, her skin tingling at the words and the image they produce. All she does is nod.

Bucky smiles a shark’s smile. “Good,” he says, lightly.

He rolls them over, so that it’s him with his back to the bed, and she’s perched in his lap, hands planted on his shoulders.

“I’m going to fuck you, or rather, you’re going to ride my cock, and you’re going to suck Steve off,” Bucky says, simply.

Toni arches an eyebrow. “This isn’t like that Eiffel Tower bullshit, is it?”

She’d seen videos of that, and she couldn’t help but think that it was just one of those sex positions that were designed to make the person in the middle feel like they are nothing – to each their own, of course, and if it gave some person out there joy and satisfaction, go right fucking ahead, but she didn’t think she could ever stand to be on her hands and knees, with two men looming over her, fucking her, and high-fiving over getting her in that position.

Almost immediately, Bucky’s face scrunches up in distaste.

Something soft and fond curls in her chest, because in a different world, he’d be perfect for her, they’d both be perfect for her, and it would have worked out between them.

But in this world, it’s just Steve and Bucky, and she doesn’t want to be a part of anything that puts her out in the cold again.

“That’s demeaning to women,” Steve declares.

Toni turns to him, expectantly.

Steve turns red. “What, it is,” he says, defensively.

Toni offers him a soft, barely-there smile and reaches out, patting him on the cheek.

“I’m down with Bucky’s idea. Are you?”

The flush of Steve’s face rises into his ears. “Yeah, I’m gonna say no to the idea of a beautiful woman sucking my cock,” he says, belligerently.

For a brief moment, she feels the stinging, biting shame of being reduced to just that, a hole for them to dip their wicks in, to be something new and different and exotic, after they’ve most likely only been having sex with themselves – it’s what she’d been to them when she was a teenager; to be in this position all over again somehow feels like a deterioration of character than anything.

But this time, she supposes, she’s using them as much as they’re using here; they’re all aware of what this is, scratching an itch, maybe a hunger for fond memories instead of the clusterfuck that she remembers it ending as, but nothing more – this way, they’re all on the same place, and she’s not the moon-eyed, lovesick idiot thinking that there’s something more going on here than just sex and novelty.

She looks back down at Bucky, and she trails her hands down his broad shoulders, over the scarring that she finds there, angry and red. Her teeth dig into her lower lip, and her eyes flit up to his eyes, pale and hot in his handsome face, and then, they morph into something insecure, unsure.

The stump is obvious, of course, and the skin has healed over, not like the mottled, bloody, twisted thing it must have looked like when the injury first happened, and Toni, with all of her staring now, mustn’t be helping whatever insecurity or self-esteem issue Bucky must have associated with the amputation.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky offers, almost immediately, an uncertain expression on his face.

Toni blinks down at him, slow and wide. “For what?”

Bucky swallows hard, his throat flexing. His eyes dart in the direction of his stump, and beside the two of them, Steve is still as a statue, barely breathing, just taking in the interaction between the two of them, wondering when a good time would be to intervene.

“The stump,” Bucky says, worrying his teeth on his lower lip. “I know it’s, uh, it’s hard to take in the first time, and yeah, it’s ugly. I know that. I guess, you don’t have to look at it if you don’t want to, or we can… we can stop, or you can just have sex with Steve, and I’ll just touch you or I don’t have to touch you if you don’t want me to-”

Toni covers his mouth with her hand.

“Stop talking,” she says in her CEO voice.

Bucky falls silent immediately.

Toni’s hand settles in the curve of Bucky’s throat, her palm pressed against where his pulse throbs painfully and hard. Bucky’s eyes are on hers, and they don’t leave, even as her hand leaves, proceeds down over his collarbone and to the side, smoothing over the scarring, feeling the raised, smooth skin there.

Bucky sucks in a sharp breath.

But Toni goes on. She moves her hand down his arm, until she reaches his stump, and then she stops.

Silence hangs in the air.

And then, she’s curling her hand around the stump and lifting it up, so that she can press her mouth against the flat of the stump.

“Oh,” Bucky says, breathlessly, and then, she feels his cock jerk between her thighs, at the motion.

“I don’t mind,” she says, firmly. “It doesn’t bother me at all, and I’m still on for our original plan if you are.”

Bucky licks his lips and nods. “Sure,” he says, his voice slightly high and thin.

“Good,” Toni says, pleasantly, and then tangles her fingers with his, raising his whole arm so that his hand could close around one of her breasts.

He squeezes the plump weight of it between his fingers, and Toni makes a soft noise of pleasure, shifting on his lap. His thumb flicks at her nipple, sloping over the hard tip, and she squirms over him.

“Fuck this,” she mutters. “I hate this foreplay shit.”

She makes for the waistband of their sweatpants and tugs at it insistently.

“Off, off, off,” she demands. She flings a look Steve’s way. “You too. Take it off.”

Toni heaves herself onto her knees, giving Bucky some room to slide his sweatpants off, and when she perches back in his lap, it’s just skin pressed against glorious skin. She looks over at Steve, and he stretches like a cat when he catches her looking, flexing those beautiful muscles, and his cock is already hard, flushing and weeping and curving against his belly.

Bucky gropes at her breast again.

“These are stupendous,” he declares, eyes fixed on the heavy curve of them against her chest.

“Why thank you,” she replies, easily. “They’re totally real too. Just a bit… bigger than they used to be, because of, you know, the pregnancy and lactation and everything.”

Her voice tilts into the awkward, just because most guys, like with menstruation, don’t like to hear about the gritty, filthy parts of pregnancy, just in general about the miracle of life.

“I love your tits,” Bucky says, without missing a beat. “I think they’re great.”

He moves his hand down from them to the slight curve of her belly.

She bites her lip.

“Stretch marks,” she offers, a little small and unsure, when she feels his fingers graze over the raised skin.

“You’re still beautiful,” Steve says, his voice unbearably soft.

A knot forms in the pit of her throat, and finally, because the emotion is almost too overwhelming for her to stomach, she shakes her head.

“Thanks, boys,” she says, with her sharp smile. “Now, I thought we were going to have sex, or was that just a pipe dream?”

If either Steve or Bucky were at all upset by her decision to remind them of what was really going on here, they don’t show it all.

“If that’s really what you want-”

And before she can even breathe or think, his fingers are finding their way between her legs and rubbing at her clit.

Toni makes a soft, desperate noise at the back of her throat, and her nails dig into his shoulders, shifting on his lap, restlessly, as she begins herself to grow damp.

And then, he nudges further until he’s able to slide one finger, right to the knuckle, and she gasps against the stretch, bearing down.

“How does she feel, Buck?” Steve asks, his voice lower than a rasp, as he watches the picture that Toni makes, perched on Bucky’s lap.

“Wet,” Bucky growls. “Soft and tight. Fucking perfect.”

Toni moans when one finger becomes two, stretching her perfectly. She digs her teeth in her lower lip, throwing her head back, with a little bounce of her tits as she does.

“Look at you,” Bucky murmurs. “You really like that, huh?”

The pads of his fingers rub against her insides, reaching as far inside her as possible, seeing if he can find that spot inside her that will make her clench and flutter around him, make her leak like a hose.

His thumb swipes over her clit, and she feels herself seize up, all of her muscles and limbs, and she moans, low and throaty, shuddering from head to foot above him.

“Were you wet as soon as you came in, or did you only get when I buried my face in that pretty pussy of yours?” Bucky asks, almost conversationally.

“Both,” Toni gasps, rocking down on his fingers, which are now three. “Both, I was wet when I came in through the door, the second I saw you, and when you put your mouth on me. It was… it was the best orgasm I’ve had in a while.”

Bucky’s eyes light up. “Really?” he says, gleefully.

Toni rolls her eyes. “I have a four-year-old son,” she says, bluntly. “Whom I love very much, don’t get me wrong, but it doesn’t really help me getting laid, when I have read at least six stories to get him to sleep or when I have to make his lunch with the crusts cut off.”

“Fair point.” Bucky grins, making his handsome face even more handsome. “I’ll still take the compliment.”

Toni rolls her eyes again, and then, anything she might have said is abruptly cut off when he rubs his thumb around her clit in soft little circles, she doesn’t have the bandwidth to say much; all she can do is shake and lean into his fingers.

And then, she’s coming again, pulsing hard around his fingers, lights dancing behind her eyes, and then, she’s collapsing against his chest.

“That was very good,” she says, breathlessly.

Bucky’s hand lands on her hair. “I’m glad.”

Toni doesn’t wait any time. She works her way between his legs and grasps his cock, half-rising, firming all the way in her grip. He grunts and thrusts into her hand, leans up and bites at her throat, licks at her skin, like he wants to leave a mark on her skin and doesn’t think he’s allowed.

She drags her hand through his hair and brings him away from her neck. “It’s not that I don’t like hickeys, but if you leave some that are going to show through my top tomorrow, that’s going to be a bitch to explain to Peter.”

“Yeah, I’m guessing a four-year-old doesn’t know what hickeys are?” Bucky asks, dryly.

Toni chuckles. “I look forward to the days when I’m going to have to lie and say that they’re burn marks from my hair straightener,” she muses.

She corkscrews her hand upwards, towards the head of his cock, with quick, rough strokes, tracing the vein beneath his head with the edge of a fingernail, making it jump in her palm.

“Do you want a handjob, or would you rather be inside me when I come?” she asks, bluntly.

Bucky’s throat flexes at the question. “How am I supposed to choose?” he rasps.

“We should probably have the safe sex conversation right now, right?” Toni points out.

Bucky and Steve still.

“I have an IUD, so that solves the pregnancy angle,” she goes on, without missing a beat. “and I’m clean, but I assume you have condoms and you use condoms?”

“We do,” Bucky says, clearing his throat. “We do have condoms; we do use them.” He scrabbles for the bedside table. “Let me just, uh, let me just get the-”

But it’s a difficulty, because of the way they’re positioned on the bed, with Bucky’s stump closest to the bedside table, and Steve on Bucky’s whole arm’s side.

“Let me do it,” Toni says, brusquely, batting his hand away.

She doesn’t catch Bucky’s eyes widening or the way he and Steve look at each other, and instead, she stretches her hand out for the table. She pulls open the drawer and her hand digs inside. Her hands close around something thin and plastic and almost, reflexively, she pulls it out.

It’s a picture of her.

It’s not a picture of her as she is today, as an adult, but what she looked like when she was fifteen years old, her hair much frizzier than it is now, curly and wavy in the same breath, her face softer with childhood fat, her teeth straight, her lips fuller, and her nose the same, because she’d gotten the nose job when she was twelve at her father’s insistence.

It’s a picture of her.

They keep a picture of her in their bedside drawer.

Toni doesn’t know how to react, how to process this, what to do with any of this.

It’s like a pit has formed in her stomach and behind her eyes, and then, she cracks wide open, bloody and bare.

She clears her throat. There are a million words on the edge of her tongue, a million different things that she wants to say to them, ask them, demand from them, but everything sounds weak in her mind, everything leaves her dissatisfied and restless.

Her brow dips down, and then, she returns the photo to the drawer and scrabbles around again, finally finding a box of condoms and pulling out a neat, square packet.

She flashes it at them, waving it back and forth.

“Jackpot,” she teases.

Bucky’s face vividly relaxes when he realises that she’s not going to push the subject of the picture she found, and Steve, beside her, she feels him exhale, his chest heaving, as if he’d been previously holding his breath.

She tears open the condom packet and pulls out the latex, grimacing at the instant greasy sensation that overtakes her fingers. With one hand having a good grip around his cock, she reaches between their bodies and their legs, grasping him by the base of his cock, so that she can roll the condom down, her touches as soft as cotton candy.

She lifts herself onto her knees, and then, she bears down onto him, feeling the head of his cock push up against the lips of her sex. She parts for him like a ripe peach, and she’s still dripping, her thighs wet, but there’s still a stretch and a burn when she takes him inside her. She worries her teeth on her lower lip, her eyes fluttering shut, as she grows accustomed to the size of him inside her.

It’d been a while since she’d had sex with anyone, let alone someone who was as thick as Bucky, and he was bigger now than he was the last time she remembers them having sex, when she was something like fifteen or sixteen, not too much longer, of course, but thicker.

The word _beer can dick_ comes to mind.

She sucks in a deep breath, and then, she plants her hands on his shoulders, leaning over him, her spine curving. Steve settles his hand in the dip of her spine, fingers trailing back and forth over the soft hollow there, his fingers warm against her skin.

His hips stutter and falter against her, and Bucky throws his head back, baring the tendon there, lingering under his pale skin, which she traces with the edge of a single nail. His jaw is taut, the muscle flexing, and he starts grunting, as she rises and falls atop him, nails digging into his shoulders, her breasts bouncing slowly, and then much quicker.

He peers at her, his eyes pale with a ring of back. He drags them down, past her face, the pink and swell of her mouth, the long, lean line of her throat, to the sight of her breasts heaving against her chest, with every time that she bears down his cock.

“I thought it was a dream,” Bucky groans.

“What was?” she says, breathlessly, when the pressure begins to build up inside her belly, like a coil of heat looping around itself until it forms a tight little knot.

“Your tits, how good they look like this. I thought…” Bucky’s throat flexes, as his hand gropes at one of her breasts, thumb dragging back and forth over her nipple. “I thought I dreamed it, how good they look.”

Toni’s hips slow. “You dream about my tits?” she says, sceptically.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, flatly, as if it’s silly that he wouldn’t.

“I’ve had…” Toni clears her throat, her mouth as dry as sawdust. “I’ve had a kid,” she points out.

“Yeah, and so?” Bucky says, lifting an eyebrow.

Toni peers down at her body, at her breasts and the dark, raised stretch marks that she can see just over the swell and over her hips and belly.

“I’m not…” she sighs. “I don’t look like I did when I was younger, before I had Peter,” she says, awkwardly, running her hand through her hair “My tits are bigger than they used to be, sure, but they sag now, and I have stretch marks all over them, and on my stomach too, no matter how much I might have gone to the gym and dieted. I’m a lot heavier than I used to be, at least five to six pounds more. My hair started to fall out, a couple of months after I had Peter. Hell, doesn’t my cunt feel different? Less tight? That’s because four years ago, I pushed an entire human being out of there.”

Bucky’s face screws up. “That might actually be disgusting.”

“See,” Toni says, triumphantly. “I told you.”

“No,” Bucky scoffs. “Not the fact that you, for some stupid reason, don’t realise how absurdly hot you are, but the fact that you linked up having a baby to the tightness of your pussy.”

Toni folds her arms over her breasts, pushing them up in the cradle of her elbows. “Hey, it’s a legitimate thing.”

“Toni, doll, I don’t want to think about your boy when I’ve got you skewered on my cock,” Bucky says, plainly.

Toni’s mouth twists. “You are revolting, Barnes.”

Steve trails his fingers up the curve of her spine. “I didn’t ever think you’d be one to be self-conscious.”

“I’m not,” Toni argues. “These are legitimate changes to a woman’s body after pregnancy and childbirth.”

Steve just stares at her with those pale, knowing eyes of his.

She has the sudden, vicious urge to turn her head, so he can stop looking at her like that, looking at her like he can see right down into her soul.

“Someone said this shit to you,” Steve finally says, fingers trailing up between her shoulder blades and into her hair, tangling into the curls at the nape of her neck. “That’s why you’re saying it, because someone’s actually looked you in the eye and said this shit to you.”

Toni makes a soft noise at the back of her throat, the colour high in her cheeks. “My husband, sometimes,” she admits, her voice turning to acid in her mouth. “The tabloids, more than him. Twitter assholes who could never get laid even if they paid for it.”

“Bunch of dicks,” Bucky says, immediately.

Toni huffs out a laugh. “I know you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but yeah, kind of,” she agrees. Her throat flexes, and her hands tighten around his shoulders. “Now, are we going to talk about my dead husband, or are you going to fuck me?”

Bucky doesn’t say a word, just smiles, sharp, and thrusts up, hard, the pressure and the force dragging the air out of her lungs. Toni’s nails dig into his skin, leaving red, half-moon marks there, and she digs her teeth in her lower lip.

His hips snap forth, and she bows over him, clutching at him, as his arms wrap around her, holding her hard against his chest, instead of letting her perch on top of him with her spine straight.

He brushes his mouth against her hair, and then, he says, “now, I thought you were going to suck Steve off, doll? Or are you planning on disappointin’ him? He’s been looking forward to this all night.”

Toni looks over, the blood hot in her face, and she finds Steve kneeling beside their prostrate bodies, hand on his cock, keeping him at the edge of an orgasm. Toni runs her tongue over her plump, red lower lip. She reaches out, curling an arm around his waist, and angles her mouth over his cock, first with a little sigh of air over the head.

Steve groans, his hands twitching by his side.

She pulls off.

“You can put them in my hair,” she says, breathlessly, her throat flexing.

“What?” Steve says, dazed, his face wan.

“Your hands, pull on my hair, Rogers. It’ll keep me wet,” she tells him, briskly.

“You’re sure?” he rasps, chewing on his lip like it’s something he really wants to do, he wants to pull on her hair while he chokes her on his cock and thinks it’s disgusting of him, the poor, sweet boy.

Toni offers him a small smile, just the barest hint of teeth. “Yeah,” she says, softly.

She leans forward and licks at the head of his cock, tasting the pre-come that drips there. She grips the base of his cock with one hand, the other threading through Bucky’s hair, and she swallows down, until she can nuzzle at the join of his thigh, just shy of his cock.

Steve groans and thrusts his hips forward, bending back. She swipes her tongue over the head of his cock, pumping his cock in firm strokes, so she can give him the dual sensation. Her tongue traces the vein beneath his head and then licks a long, lazy stripe up the underside of his cock.

Steve rocks his hips, sending his cock deeper into her throat, and Toni almost chokes, until she starts breathing through her nose, and her throat convulses around his cock, tight and hot in a whole different way.

Steve moans, breathlessly, his hand tightening in her hair to the point where her scalp burns, and she pulls back, her tongue running teasingly across the seam of him.

That’s all that it takes for him to come, and he tastes like salt, warm and full in her mouth.

She swallows her come instead of letting it drip down the sides of her mouth and chin, and when she pulls away, her mouth is damp and shining, and she runs her thumb over her lower lip, sucking the digit into her mouth, in a vague memory of how she’d sucked his cock.

Steve crumples onto the bed, on his back, throwing his arm over his eyes. “You…” he wheezes. “You might’ve just killed me.”

Toni laughs and bears down on Bucky’s cock. She reaches down, cradling his jaw with a single hand.

“Keep your eyes on me,” she orders, her voice firm and no-nonsense.

His eyes darken at her bossy tone. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, roughly.

Toni almost smiles at the look on his face, absolutely dazed and still so wanting, and Steve, so contented, so satisfied that he looks like he might fall asleep, like he’s never had an orgasm that good before.

It’s almost as if they’re hers.

She rocks down, and Bucky grunts, his hips rising to meet hers, making an obscene smacking noise when his pelvis comes into contact with hers. She pulls her hair over one shoulder and her tits bounce against her chest with every rise and fall of her body.

Fingers nudge between her legs, and she looks over to find Steve still lying beside Bucky on top of the sheets, his hand between her legs.

“What are you doing?” she asks, eyebrow cocked in tease.

She gasps when she feels the added stretch of a blunt finger inside her, joining Bucky’s cock, and her insides shift to accommodate the new pressure, clenching hard around Bucky’s cock and Steve’s finger.

“You know, I might actually squeeze those appendages right off your body,” she murmurs.

Steve’s thumb rubs soft little circles around her clit, and he says, almost arrogantly, “I’d like to see you try.”

She pulses around them, so quickly she might not have believed she was capable of such an orgasm. She cries out, her voice high and thin, and she freezes on top of Bucky’s cock in her orgasm, as lights dance behind her eyes and she shudders right down to her fingers and toes, riding the sensation until its end.

Bucky thrusts inside her, furious and clumsy and familiar, chasing his own climax, and he comes as well, spilling into the condom.

“Fuck,” Toni sighs, still so sensitive that the slightest shift of her body on top of Bucky’s sends her shuddering all over again.

She pulls off his cock, flushing at the obscene noise that she makes, the squelch of the slick still running between her legs, and falls down on the mattress on the other side of Bucky, breathing hard and heavy, her nipples still swollen and sharp points.

“It’s very difficult,” she whispers, and they turn to her. “Being a mother. Sometimes, I hate it. Sometimes, I hate caring about another human being so much, because I don’t think I could live if something happened to him,” she muses, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “I think I… I think I’d die if he died. I feel like my lungs are in my throat, constantly. That’s how I feel every minute of every day. I just… it _sucks_. I love him, I love him more than I love anything, than I’ve ever loved anything, but it sucks to love someone so much, to be scared constantly, to fear for him, to want to protect him from the world or from anything.” She bites her lip. “But it’s worth it, because no one’s ever loved me like he loves me. He looks at me like I can fix everything bad and wrong in his life, like I’m everything, like I’m God, like I can make everything better. And it’s addictive, and it’s not something that I’m willing to just let go. And this morning, when he screamed, God, a part of me died, because I thought he was hurt, he needed me and I wasn’t there and…” she trails off, shaking her head.

Of all the people in the universe, they are not the people she should be having this conversation with.

They are not on her side; they are not her _people_ , her family; they don’t have her best interests at heart; this is something they can use against her.

She shakes her head.

“It must be worse,” Bucky offers, hesitantly. “Now that your husband’s gone.”

Toni grinds her teeth behind her smile. “Yeah, it was,” she lies through her teeth.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Bucky says, awkwardly.

“Don’t be,” Toni says, instantly. “It’s not like you knew him, or frankly, would have liked him if you had.”

“Still, you loved him,” Bucky says, quietly. “And you married him, and you had a kid with him. We just… we just wanted you to be happy, Toni. And when we found about him dying, we thought about… we thought about getting in contact with you, coming to see you, but we thought you wouldn’t have wanted to see us.”

 _You’re right_ , Toni thinks. _I wouldn’t have wanted to see you_.

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t exactly in a good place when Ty died, and Peter didn’t really understand what was going on either,” she explains.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Bucky trails off. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“It’s okay,” she gives him a thin, pale copy of a smile. “I just… I should probably go, right? I’ll, uh, I’ll go back to my room-”

“No, stay,” Steve blurts out.

Toni watches as Bucky turns to him, sending him one of those furious, familiar looks, the one that someone gets when they agree to go out on a couples’ date with people their partner hate.

“That isn’t a good idea,” she tells him, awkwardly. “I don’t think that it’ll end well.”

“Toni,” Steve sighs. “Can we please, just… we want you to stay. Will you stay?”

Toni bites her lip, a thousand feelings warring within her, across her face, before she settles in resignation.

She comforts herself with the thought that if she walks out of their room now, in the middle of the night, the greater chance there is of her coming into contact with someone else and having to explain to someone exactly why she’s coming out of Steve and Bucky’s room.

“Okay, fine,” she says, quietly, hoping she doesn’t sound desperate. “I’ll stay here tonight.”

The way they look at her, especially Steve, with that hope shining across their eyes, it makes her feel sick to her stomach.


	9. ix.

She’s too much of a coward to stay, though.

She falls asleep some ten minutes after and wakes up four hours later, judging by the blinking sharp lines of the alarm clock on the bedside table. By this time, Bucky has an arm flung across her thin waist, fingers curling in the bedsheets by her hip, and he’s snoring into the bare curve of her shoulder.

Her foot is tangled with Steve’s over Bucky’s calf, and she’s confused about how it got there.

But it reminds her of what it used to be like with them, when she was still a teenager and madly in love with them, and she used to spend night after night with these two boys, because it wasn’t like Howard was interested in what she was getting up to. She remembers being tangled up with them in Steve’s tiny bed in his small, two-bedroom ramshackle apartment that he shared with his mother (now, she wonders how the head of the Irish mob could’ve possibly lived in that kind of accommodation without anyone insisting that Sarah Rogers upgrade).

And the reminder is the worst, because the memory that it invokes, much to her fury and disgust, was a complete and utter lie.

So, she crawls out of their bed, pushes their arms off, as gently as possible, without wanting to wake them up, picks up her clothes off the floor and dresses herself as quickly possible.

She opens the door, barely breathing, shooting uncertain looks towards the occupied bed.

Steve and Bucky sleep like the dead.

She walks out of the door, closing it behind her, breathing hard, as she leans against the door.

God, she feels like a teenager.

It’s been a long time since she let a boy or boys take her clothes off, have sex with him, and then, sneaked out of his room with all of her clothes before his parents can see her.

She eyes the corridors, carefully, and then makes her journey back to her room.

When she opens it, Peter is still sleeping peacefully in the bed, and she breathes a sigh of relief.

She pads over to the bed, and she perches on the edge of it, watching Peter sleep, just for a moment, and then, she smooths back of his hair. Peter makes a little face in his sleep, and he mouths along some words, which makes her smile.

She should never have left him, not even to go and search out something that had been a slow, crawling itch against her skin since that first day in her office when she’d seen Bucky hovering above her, with that handsome smile of his, blood caking his face.

She bites her lip, and whispers, “I’ll be right back, baby.”

She has a quick shower, making sure to clean off the sweat and the open, damp sensation she still has between her thighs, as if someone could tell just by looking at her, exactly what she’d gotten up to last night and with who.

When she comes back, Peter is thankfully still sleeping, his hands flexing and unflexing, and she realises, with a pang, that he’s missing the weight of his Wonder Bear, as he sleeps.

She crawls on top of the bed, and Peter turns his head into her stomach, as if realising that she’s there now, and she abandons all hope for sleep, deciding to spend the rest of the night, just like that, staring at her son, as he sleeps, his weight in her arms, to remind herself of exactly what she has in this world.

* * *

They find her in the kitchen, the next morning.

She’s washing the cereal bowls that she and Peter had used, while Peter sits in front of the television set with Thor, watching cartoons.

Arms wrap around her waist, a chin leaning on her shoulder, and she turns into a statue.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs into her ear, his hair tickling her cheek.

For a brief moment, she wants to lean back against him, let Steve hold her as he pleases, as much as he’d like, just to feel his warmth and muscle against hers.

She’d missed it; she hadn’t realised how much, or perhaps she hadn’t wanted to realise it, but she’d missed it like it was the only way to breathe properly, as if she’d been breathing only half-heartedly this whole time.

And then, her gut drops like stone.

“What are you doing?” she says, carefully.

Steve withdraws his hands. “Toni?” he says, uncertainly.

Toni turns around, keeping her face devoid of emotion. “What are you doing, Steve?”

Steve’s face is uncertain, almost childlike, at the edge of crumpling. “I just thought… after last night, I mean, we were all so…” he trails off, chewing on his lower lip.

“Steve,” she sighs, swallowing hard. “Steve, don’t do this. Please don’t do this.”

“Toni, so many years have passed,” Steve blurts out. “I mean, we’re not kids anymore. We’re not… we can do better this time, all of us. We can… we can be more. Toni, we haven’t forgotten-”

“I came to you last night, because I was sad and scared and I wanted a distraction, to scratch an itch,” Toni says, bluntly, watching as Steve’s face crumbles like stone.

Behind him, Bucky closes his eyes and leans against the doorframe, as if it’s the only thing supporting his weight.

“I don’t believe you,” Steve says, his voice trembling.

“Why?” Toni says, almost defiantly, lifting her chin. “Why don’t you believe me? What happened between us crashed and burned years ago. We were just kids. Why would you want to bring all of that up again?”

“That’s not…” Steve trails off. “That’s not… that doesn’t mean that we can’t do better this time-”

“You broke my heart,” Toni says, patiently. “All those years ago, you broke my heart, both of you, and I… I almost didn’t recover, honestly. I still think about it now,” she muses. “I can’t do that again. I can’t… I _won’t_ put myself through that with you again.”

“I told you this was a mistake,” Bucky says, his voice cutting cleanly through the air, like a knife through warm butter. “Steve, come on, let’s go. Last night was just sex. That’s how Toni Stark operates, right?” he says, voice thin with derision.

“Fuck you,” Toni says, venomously, flinging a terrible glare over Steve’s shoulder at Bucky. “Fuck you, Barnes. You don’t know me.”

“Oh, but I do,” Bucky says, pushing himself off the doorframe and storming into the kitchen. “I do know you, Toni. Look at how fucking easily you rewrite history. _We_ broke _your_ heart, give me a fucking break. You don’t have a heart, Toni, not one that anyone can possibly break.”

Toni’s expression freezes, turns jagged. “Like I said, you don’t fucking know me.”

“I know you don’t care about anyone but yourself, but your _family_ ,” Bucky says, his voice ugly. “I know that you take what you want, at all costs, and then, you throw it away when you’re done. You exist on novelties, Toni. You don’t have anything real in your life.”

 _I have a son, I have a son, and he is more real to me than anything else in this world, fuck you, fuck you, Barnes_ , Toni wants to scream.

“You ruin people, Toni. You’re a ruiner. You take what you want, you burn it all to the ground, and you don’t give a fuck about the ash you leave behind.”

“And you’re the ash, are you?” Toni says, coldly. “Is that what you are in all of this? The poor, put-upon victims, and me, the selfish, evil bitch that ruined your lives.”

“Maybe,” Bucky says, confidently. “I’m just saying, look at yourself in the mirror once in a while before you start throwing accusations at other people.”

“What do I have to look in the mirror for?” Toni demands. “I know exactly what happened back then, I was there, I was an eye-fucking-witness to everything. You weren’t sure that you were really gay, maybe you were bisexual or pansexual or maybe you weren’t particularly narrow-minded about your preferences, so you sought me out, the poor little rich girl with no friends in public school. I didn’t have anyone, no real friends, no one to support me, to have my back, just Rhodey, who I went to MIT with, but no one in close proximity to keep an eye on me. My parents didn’t care, something which you quickly found out for yourself, so what’s the, uh, what’s the word? Oh, yeah, that’s right. I was low-hanging fruit, wasn’t I? Easy pickings to test out your sexuality.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Bucky says, shaking his head, mutinous.

“So,” Toni goes on, as if he’d never said anything. “You drag me into your relationship, and frankly, it’s not like I have so much experience, right? The only relationship I’d had before the two of you was Ty, and he was an emotionally manipulating, gaslighting, occasionally physically abusive bastard. Sure, I’d had sex before, I’d had a lot of sex, but I didn’t really know much about healthy, functional relationships, and you preyed on that.”

“Oh, my God,” Steve moans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“And then, at some point, you decided you didn’t want me anymore,” Toni goes on without breathing, feeling a wretched kind of dryness in her throat, her face sharpened by fury, turning into something strange and grotesque. “You probably figured out whatever you were confused about, realised that you were gay and all you needed was each other, so I was just… what, extraneous now, right? I’d served my purpose, given you the fucking closure and resolution that you needed. You couldn’t stick your cocks in me and pretend like you were just exploring your sexuality anymore, right? You couldn’t _justify_ me anymore, so you said out loud what you’d both been thinking since the beginning, that I wasn’t actually a legitimate part of your relationship.”

The look in her eyes is bleak and hard.

“I was just something on the side, soft enough and wet enough that it made you come anyway. So, you just stopped,” she says, heavily, her heart turning over in her chest at the memory. “When you were done with me, when I’d outlived my usefulness, you stopped talking to me and smiling at me and kissing me and touching me and loving me, if you ever did. Don’t you fucking dare stand there and pretend like I had anything to do with this. You had all the power in this relationship, all of it; I was just along for the ride. I did what you wanted me to do. It suited you for a time to let me pretend to be your girlfriend, so you figured, _why fucking not_? And then, you didn’t want me anymore, and you took it all away from me.”

“That’s not what happened,” Bucky says, his voice pitched low. “That’s not what happened _at all_.”

But Toni’s on a roll, and if she doesn’t get this out now, she might never get it out again.

“You know, I remember all of the rumours, all the things they used to say about me, when I first showed up,” Toni says, almost wistfully, if her voice wasn’t sour. “My vagina had teeth; I had sex with five guys at the same time; I had an escort service on call; I wasn’t really smart, I was just good in bed and the male teachers were always on the lookout for a hot little schoolgirl; I’d give you a hand job for some coke. If you looked deep enough, you’d find nudes of me online. I remember all of it, and I remember all the ways that guys stared at me in the halls. I remember dropping something on the stairs, bending over to pick it up, and some asshole tried to take a picture of my underwear. The boys all wanted to fuck me, and the girls all hated me because the boys wanted to fuck me. _I remember that_. But not you,” she says, with a slight, mocking tilt to her voice.

She clears her throat.

“I used to see the two of you around. You were in so many of my classes, and you weren’t popular, but you weren’t losers either. You were the nice guys that didn’t play sports but weren’t in math club. You were utterly unassuming, and everyone loved you for it. You were everyone’s favourite. Which is why I was so stunned that first day, that day you came and sat down at my table at lunch. I didn’t sit with anyone. I hadn’t since I got there,” she muses. “I was always alone at lunch, until you two came along. And you both just started talking to me. At the beginning, I kept waiting, I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for you to make a move on me or ask me to do your homework for you, because that was all I was good for in a place like this. But you didn’t do that. You didn’t even do that stupid thing at the movies that boys do, you know, the yawn and then, they wrap their arm around your shoulders, like it’s all girls need before they put out because they saw it once on some stupid rom-com? So, I started to wonder, what else was I good for, if not for a quick fuck or help with some chemistry homework, then what else could you want with _me_?”

Bucky and Steve remain silent.

“I thought we were friends,” she says, honestly, her lip curling up self-deprecatingly. “At the very least. We spent… we spent so much time together; we… we ate at that diner, remember? On the edge of town? You guys always had so much food, and at first, I starved myself, because I was so certain you wouldn’t want to see me acting like a pig, actually _enjoying_ my food. So, I always ordered a milkshake, or just a bowl of fries, when I wanted a burger or pasta or lasagne or something actually _filling_. But I didn’t, because I didn’t want you to look down on me. We went out together, we studied together, God, you took me with you _everywhere_ , and I had, I _thought_ I had you both, and maybe, maybe we could be _more_ , and then, I found out that you were together.”

She laughs, harsh and grating.

“Well, fuck, that broke my heart,” she says, honestly. “I was hurt, I was jealous, I can admit that now, but then, I thought about how _lucky_ I was that you wanted to be my friends, that you still wanted to hang out with me, especially when there didn’t seem like there was anything I could do for you. I mean, it’s not like everyone’s raring to be best friends with the poor little rich girl that was too smart for her own good, especially when they don’t need help with trigonometry or want me to suck their cocks.”

Steve winces, and Bucky’s jaw clenches hard.

“Despite knowing that you two were together, I slowly started to fall in love with you. You didn’t love me back, you just wanted to be my friend, and I _contented_ myself with that, you know? I made myself believe that it was enough, that all I needed was to be your friend, but it really wasn’t, it really fucking hurt me to be around you two constantly, and then-”

She shakes her head. Finally, she drags a hand over her face, finding her skin clammy and damp.

“And then, you asked me out,” she says, her smile toothy and too edged, feeling the heaviness in her chest. “And I thought… oh, wow, so, they finally went for it.” She makes a soft noise at the back of her throat. “And at first, I thought… oh, God, maybe, I’d been terribly wrong about all of this.”

Bucky and Steve look at her, surprised.

“I thought that maybe, you two were the same fuckboys I’d always known, that you’d finally got sick of mollifying me with your fake friendship and you wanted to get something out of it. I was confused, to be fair, because I thought you were gay, and clearly that wasn’t right, but then, I thought maybe you were experimenting or you weren’t sure whether you were gay or maybe bi or pan or just not… putting yourself in a box. But I went along with it, because even back then, I was desperate from scraps from the two of you,” she says, her face turning into something jagged and dark.

It is an exercise of self-hatred, this, what she’s doing here, spilling all the deep, dark, filthy insecurities and thoughts of a fifteen-year-old girl, but she can admit that it’s been building up inside her body like a floodgate waiting to break open, and she has them here, in her sights, and once she leaves here, she might never see them again.

It would be best for her, best for her sleepless nights, if she just broke open the floodgate, let all of it pour and rush out, and then, get to work on rebuilding it, brick by brick, instead of letting them continue to cripple her slowly and painfully and methodically.

“And then, time passed, we went on dates, and it wasn’t so different from our friendship, so, maybe sex wasn’t all you wanted, maybe you weren’t like all the other men I’d known, except for Rhodey, of course, but, of course, no one can ever be as good and decent and kind as Rhodey.”

She says it, with enough acid and taunt, because she remembers that it had always been a point of contention between the three of them, the fact that above all else, even at that age, she’d decided that she loved Rhodey the most and the best, and they’d been jealous; they’d been jealous of how much she talked about him to them; they’d been jealous of how much she talked to him, even when he was nowhere near her, how much she wanted him and how he made her laugh and grin and happier than anyone else in her life, who wasn’t Jarvis, had made her, or so, she thought.

They’d had arguments after arguments about it, and more than once, they’d asked her whether she was in love with him, whether she wanted him, whether they were just stop-gaps until she could see Rhodey again.

She said no, and there was always a brief respite.

And then, there wasn’t.

“So, then, I thought… oh, wow, they actually want to be with me. These two beautiful boys, whom I thought had already found their soulmates, wanted _me_ too. And I couldn’t believe it, and a part of me didn’t want to believe it, but you were so nice to me, and you kept asking me out, and you didn’t even…” she swallows hard. “You didn’t even make a move on me until we were seeing each other for around two months, just kissing here and there, and no one, well, _Ty_ never waited that long to seal the deal-”

She ignores the way that their faces instinctively twist in displeasure at the mere mention of her dead husband.

“So, I spent most of those two months wondering whether you two were actually attracted to me, whether this was some weird form of friendship that I hadn’t realised existed, because Rhodey is and has and always be an outlier, and if you didn’t want to have sex with me, what possible use could I be of to either of you? I mean, it’s not like I had a great lot of experience with things like friendship, right?”

She hadn’t realised, all these years, it had been like scar tissue over an open wound, keeping all of this bottled up within her, and now, it was like someone had taken a knife to that cut, sliced her wide open, and all the rot was pouring out.

“So, I decided to make the first move,” Toni declares. “Because it wasn’t like the two of you were about to. We had sex for the first time that night, two months after our first date,” Toni says, wistfully. “You two had never had sex with each other, let alone with me or any other girl, so it wasn’t perfect, but it was _mine_ , and I hoarded it. I wanted more, wanted more of all of it, you and your bodies and your mind, because I have always been a greedy, hungry little thing, even at that age, and the way you looked at me, it made me think that you felt the same way about me, that you wanted all of me just as much, were desperate for it just as much.”

 _That was a delusion in the end_ , she thinks, the acid rush of self-loathing enveloping her.

“And after that, things were good. They were really good for a while, weren’t they? They were good for _years_ actually, now that I think about. _We_ were good. I thought… I thought we were in love,” she stumbles over the word, how hard it comes to the edge of her tongue. “I thought that we didn’t have to be one of those relationships that starts out hot and heavy during high school and then burns out the second that one person goes to college a little far away, or gets married and then ends up resenting each other for the rest of their lives and having to pretend to everyone else that we were still happy even though I got pregnant at seventeen and never lived a life beyond making cupcakes for bake sales and either of you or both of you started screwing your secretary or the check-out girl with the perky tits at the grocery store. I thought, _we were better than that_ ,” she says, her voice thin with disgust, pointed at herself and the two of them.

She doesn’t even notice them standing in front of her anymore – all she knows is her own pain, her own fury, her own sour resentment.

“I thought, it didn’t matter that I’d be going to MIT full-time, that we’d still be able to work things out after high school finished. Maybe, you could visit me on weekends, or I could come down to wherever you were, and it would _work_. And I mean, it wasn’t like I didn’t already have like five degrees already by the time I graduated from high school, I was only going to MIT at that stage to get my doctorates in a couple of subject. It wasn’t like we would be waiting for years. I had… I had plans for us, I suppose, as embarrassing as it is.”

She feels the naked, stinging shame of it prickling at the back of his neck.

“We didn’t necessarily have to get married, because it’s not like polyamorous relationships are reocgnised in the State of New York, but we could have lived together, had a family together. It’s not like I couldn’t have afforded it, and well, if it was going to be too much to be in a relationship with _two_ men and still be the CEO of a multi-million-dollar weapons’ manufacturing company, I would’ve stepped away from it. I would’ve stepped away from _all_ of it, from my money and my dreams and my family, because there’s no fucking way that my father would’ve forgiven me for giving up my legacy and my fucking purpose in this world for what he called _playing the whore to two men with not more than two cents to their name_ ,” she says, her ill-disguised anger twisting further.

The way that they look at her, like there are parasites living in their own skins, their faces wan and bloodless, unable to even look at her in the eye.

“But I would’ve done it, I would’ve given it up, _all of it_ , all for _you_!” she says, fiercely, clenching her fists hard against her thighs, her nails leaving half-moon and bloody marks in the flesh of her palms. “I thought I finally had found… my _people_ , people that would be with me and stay with me and not fucking leave, because everyone in my life always fucking leaves at some point. I didn’t think you’d leave, though. I thought…”

She looks away, feeling stubborn tears rise to her eyes.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore,” she says, quietly. “I started to hope, to dream, and you know, I’d never really let myself do those things before, because there was always someone around to pull them down, to destroy them before they could ever be something. It was usually Howard, sometimes Ty, and then, finally _you_.”

Her eyes are rimed with salt, and she only realises it when she drags a thumb over the line of her eye, and it comes back wet.

She hates that, hates that after all of these years, they can still make her cry.

“And then, we’re on the edge of graduating, and I’m thinking that everything’s going to work out, that we’re strong and that we can make it through everything, and who gives a shit if my Dad doesn’t like it, because he usually doesn’t like anything that has to do with me? And I thought… you weren’t like the others; you weren’t like the boys of our age. You weren’t weak or timid or soft or cowardly. Just because Howard didn’t like it, you weren’t going to break up with me. You’d have stayed with me. You’d have fought with me, _for_ me. I thought everything was _good_. Wow,” she laughs again, one that makes her chest hurt. “You really fooled me, huh?”

She looks at them, an edge of bitter, seething hatred entering her eyes.

“You should consider that a win. Not many people are capable of fooling me, nor do I let many people close enough to even get that far. Besides, it was _you_ ,” she says, with a pulse of self-loathing. “I think that’s why I was so blindsided by the end of it all, because I honestly was not expecting it from you. One day, you were bribing some poor freshman to slip me a note, so that I’d join you in the drama room for some afternoon nookie, and the next day, you stopped talking to me, both of you. You don’t look at me, you don’t talk to me, you stop calling, and suddenly, I’m on the outside again, watching as you turn your backs on me as if it didn’t matter at all, as if three fucking years in a committed, monogamous relationship didn’t fucking matter, even if it was when were seventeen.”

“That’s not the whole story, Toni,” Steve manages to say, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t care,” Toni says, fiercely, her hands shaking by her side. She curls her fingers around her wrist in an effort to stop the tremors. “I don’t fucking care what the whole story is or was. I _cared_ when I was seventeen. I stopped caring a long fucking time ago.”

_That’s a lie, Toni. Don’t you know that lying is bad?_

“You made it very clear what our relationship was, what I meant to you two, back then. I don’t need any more clarification. You dumped me, unceremoniously, might I add, without even needing to dump me. You _constructively_ dumped me, and all you had to do was stop talking to me, screen my calls, actively avoid me in the halls, and there we go, _dumped_. And when I came to your house, that day, Steve, sobbing like a fucking idiot, asking you what I did wrong, begging you to explain, promising,” her lower lip trembles, just the slightest, “ _promising_ that I’d do better, that I’d be whatever you two wanted me to be, that I’d actually rip myself to shreds and remake myself into whatever fucking girlfriend or plaything that you actually wanted, because all _I_ wanted was _you_ , because I didn’t care about myself, about my pain or my identity, if it meant that I would have _you_. I stood there, on the fucking steps to your apartment, drenched in the rain, begging and pleading and praying and crying, with my heart in my fucking hands, all for _you_ , and…” she exhales, “and you told me to go home, with that face of yours, Steve, you know, the one where it’s like there’s nothing moving you, like you’re a fucking tower and you can’t be fucking compromised, and you slammed the door in my face, unreservedly and incontrovertibly ending what there was between me and the two of you. _That’s_ what happened. _That’s_ what I know is the truth.”

Her throat flexes, and she looks away, idly scratching at her collarbone.

“But, hey, I suppose that some blame does fall on me, yeah?” she says, forcing her voice to remain light, as if she hasn’t just shown them to undeniable proof that even after all of these years, after she has become an orphan and a CEO and a billionaire and a wife and a mother and then, a widow and a single mother, yet still a CEO and billionaire, _it’s them_ ; only they can do this to her, only they can reach into her chest and curl their fingers around her heart muscle and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until she feels like she’s dying.

Even Ty, at the height of their marriage, when he’d cage her in the shower and punch her in the stomach until she couldn’t breathe, even he couldn’t do that to her, even he couldn’t make her this way.

It’s only them.

“It was my fault for reading so much into it. You clearly had different motivations with… whatever it was between the three of us all those years ago. Maybe it was for sex, maybe you felt sorry for me,” she grinds out, feeling that sting of shame all over her body. “Maybe you just wanted to confirm whether you were attracted to women or not, maybe you needed to me to test your sexuality out, I don’t know, I don’t particularly care anymore. But it was my mistake for getting involved with the two of you in the first place, for thinking that I might be able to insert myself into whatever you had already, for wanting you and loving you so much that I found it hard to breathe.”

She sends them a bitter, mirthless smile, a distinct sort of wretchedness settling through her.

“It was my mistake for entering your orbit. The two of you, back then, even now, you’re like stars in the sky, like some fucking mythological romance story that can’t be touched, and I’d dared to touch that, I’d dared to think myself worthy, that the story could be about three and not of two. I really was extraneous, and you two were soulmates, the perfect love story, so it makes sense that I would end up out in the cold. So, maybe, I should thank you, for actually bothering to put me in my place, to be that sharp edge of reality that I sorely needed, to remind me to be modest and to not reach for things that are not mine to touch.”

“Toni,” Bucky says, agonised.

“You broke my heart,” she hisses with such bitter, seething hatred. “You ruined my life. You made me feel like shit, like a fucking _idiot_ , and you have...” she takes a deep breath, sick with anger and grief. “You have the fucking _nerve_ to stand here and _pretend_ like, what, like I just completely misunderstood _everything_ , that I got all of it wrong, that there are parts of this story that I don’t know that will miraculously change the way you made me feel like shit for _years_. Fuck you,” she says, venomously. “Just… fuck you.”

She’s actually shaking now, shaking to her fingers and toes.

“I could forgive a lot of things; I _have_ forgiven a lot of things. If you’d come to me from the beginning and told me exactly what you wanted from this, that you just wanted sex or to try things out or to be friends with benefits, I would’ve given you what you wanted, that’s how fucking insecure and needy I was, but at least I would’ve known,” she says, emotionally, the grief welling up inside her like a floodgate about to break. “I would’ve been prepared. But I can’t forgive you making me an _idiot_. I just… I refuse to, _I refuse to_ forgive you making me into an idiot.”

She digs her nails so hard into the skin of her palm that it forms bloody, half-moon marks in her hand, her temper like a pressure trap, finally boiling over.

“I am many things, many awful things in this world, but I am not an idiot,” she snarls, her mouth pulling back to reveal her teeth. “I am _not_ an idiot, I am not a fucking idiot, and I can’t-no, I _won’t_ forgive you for making me one, so I’m done here, I’m done with you, _I am done with both of you_.”

She shoves past them and back into the rest of the house. She traverses the corridors until she comes by one that is not manned by anyone. She leans her back against the wall and breathes and breathes until her eyes stop stinging, until her heart stops hammering against her lungs.

When she clenches her eyes shut, the tears come.


	10. x.

She’s reading to Peter from her phone in the lounge, sitting back against the couch, with Peter on her thigh, resting against her, with his head tipped back so his big, dark eyes can catch hers and the way her mouth moves around the words.

And then, Natasha comes in.

“Do you mind?” she asks, coldly.

Toni stops talking, and she looks at the doorway.

Natasha’s eyes are flinty, hard and sharp, her face leaner than a wolf’s. “I mean,” she begins, busying herself with something atop the chest of drawers. “All I hear when I show up in this place is baby stuff. It’s disgusting.”

Peter’s shoulders hunch forward, as if been struck a physical blow by Natasha’s words.

Toni’s temper is already like a pressure trap, and it’s as if all she needed for a fight is Natasha, and every bit of it is spilling over. She smooths a hand over Peter’s back.

“Honey, can you please go and get me a scrunchie from the bedroom?” she asks, softly. “It’s getting itchy with my hair out.”

“Yeah, Amma,” Peter says and jumps off the couch, scurrying away out of the room, not before sending Natasha a fearful look, like he’s concerned about retribution.

It sets her temper boiling anew.

She slides to her feet, with all the grace of a loping cat.

“If you have something to say, say it to me,” she says, cold as ice. “But if you ever talk like that in front of my kid again, if you ever make him look at you like he should be afraid of you, I’m going to crack your head against the wall again and again until I see brain, Natasha.”

Natasha’s face falters, as if she acknowledges that she’d taken her anger out on someone who hadn’t deserved but, but it quickly sets in resolve.

Natasha always did have a lot of pride.

She takes a step forward. “You have some nerve,” she hisses.

Toni lifts an eyebrow. “Do I?”

“Coming into _my_ house and threatening me,” Natasha snaps.

“Really, because I thought this was Bucky and Steve’s house?” Toni taunts.

Natasha grinds her teeth. “That doesn’t make it any less mine.”

“What the fuck are you getting at exactly, Natasha? Are you just staking your territory, because guess what, I’m not after it,” Toni retorts.

Natasha snorts. “Yes, I’ve guessed that already.”

“Oh,” Toni says, her eyes dawning with realisation. “Oh, now, I get it. This isn’t about you. This is about your cousin and his boyfriend, and whatever sins you perceive I’ve done to them.”

Natasha shakes her head, a motion of disgust. “You are… you are such a fucking piece of work,” she declares.

“You want your shot, Nat?” Toni asks, wearily. “Go right ahead,” she says, flicking her hand out.

“You slept with them,” she says, her voice ugly and cold. “You slept with Bucky and Steve last night.”

“You mean I had sex with them, yes,” Toni corrects.

“And then, this morning, when they came to you, all forgiving and hopeful, something that you don’t deserve after what you’ve done to them,” Natasha begins, daggers in each word. “you throw them out like they’re trash, like they’re worth nothing, like you’re so much fucking better than them. You’re a fucking monster, that’s what you are.”

“Here we go again,” Toni sighs. “You people rewriting history to make them the victims in this story.”

“They _are_ the victims!” Natasha screams at her. “You ruined their lives, you stupid bitch. You ruined everything. You are the monster in this story, not them, never them.”

“You sound way too invested in what may or may not have happened between us, Natasha. Is it because you don’t have a life of your own, or is it because there’s another dastardly reason why you’re so fucking interested in who your cousin is putting his cock inside?” Toni taunts.

Natasha is sly and smart, and Toni has always known that, known it since the first time they’d ever met in high school, and she’d never turned that tongue of hers on Toni before, but Toni had always known what she is capable of.

But the thing is, Toni’s tongue is just as acid and just as sharp, and she’s been dealing with women like Natasha, women who feel like shit about themselves and their lives and put it onto the person whom they believe has the perfect life, women who are desperate to feel something and be something so they peel at every hole, every insecurity, every gaping wound they can find because they want everyone else as miserable as they are, which in this case, is Toni.

Natasha’s face curdles. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You know, I wouldn’t be surprised. You’re always hanging around here, and I mean, if my cousin was as hot as yours, I’d have probably stripped myself naked and climbed into his bed years ago,” Toni goes on, without flinching.

She’s crossing a line, crossing many lines, but she can’t bring herself to care.

All she remembers is Peter’s sad, hurt face when Natasha’s scathing anger had turned on him.

God, she could kill the bitch for that alone.

She _wants_ to kill her for that alone.

“But then again, marrying your cousin is quite normal where I come from, whereas for you, I’d imagine not so much.”

“He’s like my brother, you fucking degenerate,” Natasha snaps.

“Well, you know the saying, incest is best, put your brother to the test,” Toni says, loftily.

Natasha’s hand curls into a claw, and she almost lunges for her, barely manages to keep her temper in check. “You really are a fucking monster,” she says, her voice rasping and ugly.

“And you really don’t know when to mind your own fucking business and who to take your anger out on,” Toni retorts, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Natasha tells her.

“I wouldn’t be here if I had any other choice, and might I remind you, it was _your_ cousin and his boyfriend who insisted that I stay here.”

“And you just agreed, because you couldn’t wait to sink your hooks into them one last fucking time,” Natasha snaps at her. “And then, you walk around here, like you own the place, like you know exactly what it does to them to have you here, with that son of yours-”

“Be _very_ careful about what you say next,” Toni cuts in, baring her teeth in an expression very much unlike a grin.

“You just wanted a reason to play your games with them all over again,” she accuses.

“What games?” Toni demands, throwing her hands in the air. “Please, enlighten me, what games am I playing, Natasha?”

“You had sex with them last night and when they came to you, wanting to fix things, despite everything that you’ve done to them, the lives that you ruined in the process, you just… you broke their hearts all over again.”

“Is that what happened back then?” Toni asks, amused. “I ruined their lives?”

Natasha’s face contorts. “You know exactly what you did to them,” she says, a dangerous edge to her voice.

“Is that what they told you?” Toni asks, curiously. “Is that why you stopped talking to me too?”

Natasha blinks at her, suddenly flabbergasted.

It is an old hurt of Toni’s, just as fierce and painful as the hurts that Steve and Bucky had given her, but somehow with a darker edge. She might have put the way that Steve and Bucky broke her heart to the stupid, senseless, cruel things that boys do to girls at that age because they think they own the world and girls just exist to prop up their egos, but Natasha, Natasha was her friend.

Or at least, Toni thought she was her friend.

Natasha was her only friend, back then, just like Steve and Bucky were the reason why she was actually eager to go to normal high school when she might have just gone full-time to MIT and finished up by seventeen.

She hadn’t expected to like or be liked by the redhead; she hadn’t expected anything from her, except for cool acknowledgement that she was dating her cousin and his boyfriend, or sheer disgust for a polyamorous relationship that involved Natasha’s cousin and his boyfriend.

The first time that Natasha had come to sit with her at lunch, when Bucky and Steve were conveniently at some meeting of the football team, she wasn’t sure what to expect from the normally silent but always watching girl. She thought there was a good possibility that Natasha might take her glass of coke and throw it in her face for daring to disturb the epic mythological love story that went on between Bucky and Steve, or some vicious, violent version of a shovel talk.

Instead, Natasha just popped her bubble-gum and stole one of her fries, a disgusting combination if Toni had ever seen one.

They became closer than ever, quickly. They watched movies, went shopping, and they got manicures and facials together, and often, Natasha would just come over to Toni’s house and they would sit on her bed for hours, giggling at magazines and the shirtless pictures of hot actors that they could sigh over.

Natasha didn’t have any friends but for Bucky and Steve, and Toni had never been good at that department, having only Ty and Rhodey in that time, the latter whom was half a world away, but she and Toni had taken quickly to each other.

Natasha didn’t even wear a bra that fit her properly until Toni came onto the scene and showed her the perks of properly fitting underwear.

Which is why when Natasha stopped talking to her, ignored her as if she’d never meant anything to the girl, as if their entire friendship was some big, terrible joke, like she was Carrie at the prom, just minus the pig’s blood, it hurt just as much Steve and Bucky breaking her heart did.

It made her feel just as foolish, just as used, just as thrown away, discarded, misjudged, unwanted, unloved.

She’d never forgotten it, even if she’d forgotten Steve and Bucky, forced herself to do that as much as it may have been in vain.

Somehow, she’d always expected more of Natasha – maybe, she really is an idiot at heart.

“I love how you all suddenly decided that I was the villain,” Toni goes on, her lips twisting into a bitter, mirthless smile. “Because, if I remember it correctly, you were all on one side of the wall, and I was the one who was shut out. So, how am I the villain?”

“You have absolutely no self-awareness, do you?” Natasha asks, gaping at her in disbelief. “You’ve completely rewritten history to suit your own version of events; I don’t know if it’s because your mental illness has evolved so much.”

“You’re going down a path I don’t think you want to go down,” Toni warns, her voice soft but no less dangerous.

“You have no idea what a catastrophe you really are, do you?” Natasha goes on, undaunted. “You have no idea how much you ruined our lives, ruined Bucky and Steve’s lives, what you did to them. And they still love you, they’d still do anything and everything for you, just hoping for a scrap of attention or affection that we both know you’d never give them. You’re not capable of that, Toni. You’re not capable of genuine feeling, not really. You fake it well, maybe because you’ve been forced to watch others your entire life, but it’s not real. You don’t have a heart.”

Toni smiles, hard and reckless, even as her heart beats like a jackhammer in her chest. “It’s not the first time that I’ve heard that,” she says, loftily.

Natasha scowls. “And just when I thought they’d be okay, that they’d get over you, you throw yourself back into their lives all over again.”

Toni lifts an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah, I can see how an embittered ex-employee who tried to kill me by blowing me up is my fault. And frankly, I didn’t ask for your boys to help me, you know?”

Natasha grinds her teeth. “If we hadn’t been there, you and your son would have been charcoal.”

“And I’m grateful, but I did not ask for anyone’s help,” Toni says, stonily.

“And yet, you’re still here, asking for our help,” Natasha retorts, her smile as sly as a cat’s.

“If I had any other choice, I wouldn’t be here.”

“But you’re here, and you’re not just sticking to yourself, are you? You’re involving yourself, you’re making your place here, you’re marking your fucking territory, aren’t you?” Natasha demands. “Especially with Bucky and Steve, who are good men, kind men, decent men. You’re a parasite, and you just couldn’t resist, could you? Well, they don’t need your fucking head games.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they get plenty of that from you, darling,” Toni says, smoothly.

“They don’t need your baggage, either.”

“My baggage?” Toni laughs, dryly.

“You’re a billionaire weapons’ dealer, a widow and a single mother, mother of a child that you had with _someone else_ that is not my cousin or Steve, and you’re parading him right in front of them,” Natasha accuses.

“Oh, so, what, I was supposed to stay celibate and empty for the rest of my life,” Toni demands. “Waiting for them to deign to want me when they’d made it very clear that they didn’t?” She shakes her head. “Don’t you dare bring my son into this,” she says, sternly. “I don’t care what you people think of him or where he came from or whether you think he is somehow _less_ because he wasn’t born out of that fake love story you built out of Steve and Bucky and me to make yourselves feel better about how you threw me out like yesterday’s trash when you were done with me. He is the _best_ thing that has ever happened to me. There is nothing in this world that I love like I love my son. You could never compare. Your boys could _never_ compare.”

Her voice breaks messily, as she thinks of that man who climbed on top of her, ready to choke her to death, while her son sat in a closet, in tears, as his mother might have died on the other side of a door.

“You think I’m here because I want to be?” she demands, clawed raw on the inside. “You think I came here because I missed you people? You think I came here because I’ve… I’ve secretly been hankering for a Steve and Bucky fix, is that it? You’re _wrong_ ,” she spits out, her voice ugly and dark. “I came here for my son,” she says, her face like thunder. “I came here because he was in danger. I don’t care about myself. I don’t care if I die, but I’ll be damned if I leave him alone in this world, and I’ll be damned if I do anything that would put _him_ in danger. I don’t care what you think of me, Natasha. You and your opinion ceased to exist to me when I was a fucking teenager.”

 _That’s a lie_.

“I had sex with Steve and Bucky last night because I wanted to,” she says, bluntly. “Because I was horny. If they thought it meant more than it actually did, that’s on them. Not on me. I didn’t give them any sort of indication. If you’re pissed with their shitty decision-making, that’s something you should take up with _them_. I’m responsible for two people in this world; that’s me and that’s my son. I’m not going to be your punching bag. I am so _sick_ , actually sick to my stomach, of you people. I am actually fucking furious that you keep bringing this shit up, this shit that actually fucking traumatised me and did my head in, and I actually worked on it, to get over it, to get over you people, and you keep bringing it up like you’re determined to keep wounding me. What sort of fucked-up sadists are you lot?”

She storms past Natasha, body-checking her as she does so for extra effort. At the doorstep, Toni stills and twists her head enough to catch Natasha’s profile.

“Like I said, if you talk to my kid like that, I’ll fucking eat you alive,” she says, a dangerous edge to her voice. “I don’t have a heart, remember? And I don’t have time for fucking sentimental shit where my kid is concerned.”

* * *

When Toni comes into the lounge to tell Peter that lunch is ready, a part of her stops functioning when she sees Peter and Steve, with their heads huddled together, at the new coffee table, a number of pieces of paper strewn everywhere, while Steve guides Peter’s hand, full of a crayon, onto a piece of paper, speaking to him softly.

She stares at the picture that they make, Peter dark, Steve light. She hadn’t realised how many features that Steve shared with Ty, whether she’d gone back to him for that reason alone, above the fact that he was a known evil, that he was familiar, that she had the stupid justification that she thought she could take the on-and-off beatings because Ty loved her, because he reminded her of Steve, reminded her of something that she’d desperately wanted but was never hers to have, and she needed that in her life; she needed that nudge to remind her to never reach for something that is not meant to be hers.

Toni blinks at the image, at those terrible thoughts, and they dissipate into thin air.

“What’s going on here?” she asks, lightly.

Peter angles his entire body to face her, his eyes bright. “We’re drawing, Amma,” he says, excitedly. “Did you know that Steve was a really good drawer?”

Toni’s smile stretches across her face, like a calm, comfortable mask. “I did, baby.”

“I was bored, so he said he would draw with me,” Peter explains.

“Ah,” Toni says, heavily. “I hope you weren’t too busy,” she says, her eyes darting over to Steve.

Steve shakes his head. “There’s no problem at all. The guys are doing some reconnaissance, and I said I’d stay back, you know, just in case.”

Toni lifts an eyebrow. “In case, we have visitors?” she asks, pointedly.

Steve’s teeth bare in an expression not quite a grin. “Let’s just say that we don’t have visitors often, and if we did, I’m more than a match for them.”

Toni’s throat flexes, ignoring the lust that swells through her entire body.

“You don’t like to have visitors, Steve?” Peter asks, not understanding the underlying metaphor, as his crayon continues to scribble on the paper. “My amma doesn’t have visitors either, but that’s ‘cause we live in a pent-penthouse in a really big building, so it’s not easy for people to visit.”

Steve cracks a smile. “I don’t really like visitors all that much either. All my friends are like family, so when they’re here, they’re not visiting. They’re just coming home.”

Peter nods, absentmindedly. “That’s what Amma says about Aunt Pepper and Uncle Rhodey and Uncle Obie.”

Steve leans in to see what Peter’s drawing in that moment. “That’s a really great house, little man,” he says, approvingly. “Who are all those people?”

“That’s me,” Peter declares, as Toni gets closer to see what he’s pointing at.

It’s a little dark blur, with a taller, dark blur beside it.

“That’s Amma,” he explains, pointing to the taller, dark blur.

There are another three blurs, two yellow and one dark like her and Peter.

“That’s Aunt Pepper, Uncle Rhodey and Uncle Obie,” Peter tells them. “That’s my dream house, when I’m a grown-up. It’s going to have to three floors, and a pool made of chocolate, and I’m gonna have Cinnamon Toast Crunch every day for breakfast.”

Steve whistles. “That’s a lot of sugar,” he says.

Peter nods. “I like sugar.”

“He also likes it when he’s running up the walls when he’s had plenty of it,” she says, dryly, ruffling his hair. “It looks really good, baby.”

Peter beams up at her, his tongue sticking out between his baby teeth. “Thanks, Amma,” he says, shyly.

“Toni, uh, do you mind if we… talk?” Steve asks, suddenly, peering up at her, hope shining across his handsome face.

Her initial reaction is to say _hell no_ , but something gives away in her chest, and she finds herself nodding even before she can second-guess her decision.

“Yeah, of course,” she says, softly.

“Steve, are you going?” Peter asks, sadly.

“Just to talk to your mom, kid,” Steve says, quickly. “I’ll just be over there, but I’ll be back. You keep drawing. It looks great.”

“Yeah?” Peter says, shyly.

“Yeah.”

Steve offers his fist for Peter to bump, and Peter taps it lightly with his own, his face lighting up. Toni watches it happen, wonders if she’s ever seen Peter this happy, wonders if _she’s_ ever made Peter this happy, wonders whether Peter has missed something, something that she couldn’t give him, now that Ty is dead.

She feels woefully inadequate.

Steve joins her in the doorway.

“Hi,” he says, shyly, like he’s still a little boy.

“Hi,” she replies, carefully.

“Look, about yesterday-”

“You don’t…” she cuts him off, closing her eyes. “You don’t have to explain, you don’t have to, uh, do anything. It happened, it’s over, we said shit, it’s done.”

“No,” Steve shakes his head. “No, I don’t… I was unfair, _we_ were unfair. We said things to you that wasn’t fair, and then, Natasha-”

“I really don’t want to talk about this or any of it,” Toni says, sternly. “Steve, listen to me very carefully, I’m offering you an out. _Take it_.”

Steve’s throat flexes, and he stares at her all soft and maudlin. “Fine.”

“Good, we done here?” Toni asks, folding her arms over her chest awkwardly.

“Yeah,” Steve clears his throat. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

He sounds displeased, but Toni keeps the stubborn set of her mouth.

“Good,” Toni says, vaguely. “So, if you’re still interested, Peter clearly really likes drawing with you. Would you mind…?”

“Yeah, of course,” Steve says, quietly.

He pads over and joins a happy, cheerful Peter at the table, who excitedly points something out for him on a piece of paper.

Toni leaves the room, silently.

* * *

The television stops working the next day, in the middle of cartoons.

Peter jumps onto the couch, pointing dramatically. “Amma, the TV’s broken.”

“Feet off the couch,” Toni says sternly.

“Amma,” Peter drags out as a whine.

“My sweet, we are staying in someone else’s house; you have to be careful with other peoples’ things,” Toni retorts. “Feet off the couch.”

“Fine,” Peter grumbles and sits back down politely. “But the TV’s still broken.”

“Yeah, I can see that, baby,” Toni says, dryly, making her way to the ancient-looking TV, bulky back and all.

She pulls it away from the wall.

“Uh, are you sure you should be doing that?” Sam asks, uneasily.

Toni sends him a disbelieving look from the above the television. “Dude, I make bombs for a living, and I take apart cars for a hobby. I have seven PhDs. You think I can’t fix a television?”

“Depends on what those PhDs are in,” Sam points out.

Toni rolls her eyes. “Physics, mechanical engineering, electrical engineering, computer science, aeronautics and astronautics, materials science and engineering, and nuclear science and engineering. Happy now?”

Sam quietens. “Fine,” he says, grudgingly.

Toni peels away the back of the television. She finds where two wires have become disjointed and frayed, and she sets to work on fixing it, just as Bucky enters the room.

“What’s… going on?” Bucky says, slowly, as if he’s unable to decipher the scene in front of him.

“The TV broke,” Peter offers, helpfully. “Amma’s fixing it.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, still unsure. “I did ask if we should actually, you know, get someone qualified to do it, but she insisted.”

“Toni can fix it,” Bucky says, immediately. “I remember once that, uh, Sarah’s oven stopped working, and it was going to cost like $2,500 to fix it, but she needed a couple of parts from the hardware store and it was good to go in five hours.”

“I seem to recall you helping,” Toni points out, without taking her eyes off the back of the television.

Bucky shrugs. “I mean, I dabbled in a bit. Lifted things that you told me to lift, that sort of thing.”

Toni rolls her eyes. “Oh, please, you could’ve been an engineer.”

“Really?” Peter gasps with all the enthusiasm of a four-year-old. “Did you want to be an emigi-emigineer?”

“Engineer, baby,” Toni corrects, gently. “And he didn’t want to be, but he could’ve been. He was good.”

“Not as good as you,” Bucky retorts.

Toni shrugs. “Very few people in this world are as good as me,” she says, simply, without a hint of self-aggrandisement.

“And she means that without any egotism whatsoever,” Sam mutters under his breath.

“That’s not egotism; that’s fact,” Toni points out. “And he’s just being modest. He could’ve done great.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Nah, I was always meant to take over the family business. Ma wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

“What’s your family business?” Peter asks, curiously, looking up at Bucky with his wide eyes.

Bucky cracks a half-smile and ruffles Peter’s hair. “Waste management, little man.”

Toni looks up over the television to give him a withering look. _The cover-up from the Simpsons, really?_

Peter frowns. “What’s waste management?”

“He means garbage, baby. He deals with garbage,” Toni says, with a sly smile.

Peter’s face scrunches up in disgust. “Your family does business in that?”

Bucky laughs, but there’s something hidden, lurking behind his eyes, that Toni spots, the longing, the breathlessness for a different life.

She remembers seeing it when they were teenagers, when they were somehow still thinking and talking about a future that they might have shared, and in her mind, she always saw Bucky doing it with her, the whole engineering-pseudo-blacksmith thing.

“How’s the TV coming along?” Bucky asks, curiously.

“It’s almost done,” Toni muses, her tongue between his teeth. “But I, uh, as much as I hate the idea of bringing back to life something that really should’ve died a terrible death a long time ago, can’t reach the underside. Can you please lift it, you big, strong man, you?”

Bucky snickers and pads over to her, and suddenly, it’s like they never stopped being teenagers with a world of pride and hunger and a whole life ahead of them, and she feels like that, like that little girl hasn’t died inside her bones.

He lifts up the edge of the television, so she can reach under and find the last wire she needed. She stares at the frayed end and shrugs, licking at the threads.

“Ew,” Peter says, his face scrunching up.

“That is disgusting,” Sam agrees.

“Hey, when you don’t have the equipment available to you…” she trails off.

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Didn’t you electrocute yourself the last time I saw you do that?”

Toni huffs. “That happened _once_ , just once.”

“Once is too many,” Bucky mutters.

Peter edges closer to the television. “Amma, is that safe?” he asks, worriedly.

Toni shoots him a reassuring look over the edge of the television. “It’ll be just fine, baby. See, I’m done.”

She joins two wires together, and suddenly, the television comes to life.

Toni leans her elbow atop the television and sends Sam a smug look. “You were saying?” she taunts.

“Yay, it’s the Munsters!” Peter cheers and slips down on the floor, his head resting on his upturned palms as he watches avidly.

* * *

“Hey, Toni, can we talk to you about something?”

Toni looks up. “Yes,” she says, uncertainly.

The last time that the three of them were alone and they _talked_ , it didn’t exactly end well for any of them, so colour Toni concerned.

Steve looks more afraid than she’s ever seen him, and Bucky has his hands shoved in his pockets, staring at a blank patch of wall like it’s the most interesting thing he’s seen in ages.

“Okay, so, uh, our investigation has borne fruit,” Steve says, after a moment.

The hairs on the nape of Toni’s neck stand on end. “Okay,” she says, slowly. “So, what did you find out?”

Steve and Bucky exchange a look that speaks a thousand words.

“You may want to sit down,” Steve offers.

Toni’s brow furrows. “I think I’ll stand up,” she says, a little sharp. “Whatever it is that you have to tell me, I can take it.”

Steve runs his hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to say this, it’s just… well, it’s not exactly the most pleasant thing to tell a person, and I guess…” he closes his eyes. “Uh, well, basically, what we think has happened is-”

“It’s Stane,” Bucky says, cutting Steve right off, locking her dark eyes with his own pale blue grey.

Toni’s frown deepens, her mouth turning down at the corners. “It’s Stane what?” she demands.

Bucky takes a deep, steadying breath. “It’s Stane who’s making moves against you.”

For a brief moment, Toni doesn’t even know how to process what he’s saying, what he’s getting at, and then, it hits her like she’s being smacked in the face with it, and her expression circles through a rapid-fire sequence of emotions.

“What the hell are you talking about?” she asks, her lips thinning.

“Stane is the one who was working with the asshole who tried to turn you into a shish-kebab,” Bucky says, bluntly. “He’s the one who’s making moves against you. We think he wants to have you killed, so he can take over as the CEO of Stark Industries.”


	11. xi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: graphic descriptions of domestic violence that occurred in the past.

Toni starts laughing. She laughs so hard that she ends up clutching at her ribs and doubling over. When she pulls back, she’s wiping at her eyes, the lids damp.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” she repeats, her voice amused instead of furious, venomous. “Are you fucking kidding me? _This_ is your investigation, this is what you found out after all of these weeks. You think it’s Stane, Obadiah, _Obie_ , my _Obie_ , my godfather? _That’s_ what you came up with?” she asks, gaping at them in disbelief.

Steve holds a hand out to her, his palm upturned. “I get it, it’s hard for you to believe; he’s important to you. You’ve known him a long time-”

“I’ve known him my entire life,” she grits out. “He’s one of the most important people in my life. He’s always been there. Hell, he was a better father to me than my own fucking father.”

Bucky’s face twists like he doesn’t quite believe her.

“You’re trying to tell me that he’s been fucking with me this whole time,” Toni offers, incredulously. “Just… just screwing with me since I was a fucking child so that he could steal it out from me. He… so, he, what, just waited and waited and advised me and kept the throne warm for me when I was too young, all so that he could kill me today, when I was in my fucking thirties, and I had a son to come after me.”

Steve purses his lips thin. “We have reason to believe that he has an intention to only get rid of you, and not Peter.”

The air is tight in her lungs, making it hard for her to breathe. “Oh?” she asks, cocking her hip outwards.

Bucky shrugs. “Peter’s four. If you die, he needs a guardian. Rhodes is still active duty in the Air Force. He doesn’t have the time to become a permanent and primary caregiver to a kid that’s just starting out in school. Your receptionist… well, sure, you and her are close, but she’s a single woman and if something happens to you, she might not have consistent employment. The courts, even today, frown on that sort of shit, right? But Stane, Stane has consistent, fucking amazing employment. He makes seven figures a year; he’s a highly-respected corporate officer, and he’s known your family for decades, and he was there when you were growing up, and your father named him to be hold Stark Industries for you until you turned twenty-one, and you trust him. He’s the perfect guardian for Peter, now that you don’t have any family left,” he says, bluntly.

“Yeah, so?” Toni demands. “That doesn’t fucking mean that he’s out to get me, that he… he wants me dead or gone or out of the picture, so he can take over. He had that shot years ago, and he didn’t take it,” she argues.

“Did he really have that shot?” Bucky fires back. “Toni, you were eighteen when your parents died. You were a legal adult, and you were old enough to know when someone didn’t have your best interests at heart. There was only so much he could have done back then without you getting suspicious. And look at you _now_!”

Toni folds her arms across her chest. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” she asks, her voice growing cold.

“Bucky, maybe we shouldn’t,” Steve tries to intervene.

Bucky rounds on him, as quick as anything. “Would you stop coddling her?” he rages.

“I’m not coddling her,” Steve snaps back. “I’m just trying to say that there might be a better way of doing this.”

“Oh, yeah, because I was supposed to take the accusation of my fucking godfather trying to and actually fucking _plotting_ to kill me like some evil mastermind in good humour?” Toni asks, incredulously.

“You asked us to check into this. This is what we’ve come up with,” Bucky retorts.

“Yeah, well, it’s _shit_!” Toni snaps. “Did you think I’d buy it? If you came to me with some bullshit theory about how my _godfather_ is trying to kill me so that he can assume guardianship over my son and take over my company?”

“No, we didn’t actually. We didn’t think you’d buy it, and that’s what I was getting at before. Look at you now! The guy’s got you so twisted up that you can’t even _imagine_ that he might not have your best interests at heart, that he might actually want what you have-”

“There is a massive difference between wanting what I have and willing to _kill_ me to get it,” Toni shrieks. “And he does not have me twisted up.”

“Oh, please,” Bucky says, derisively. “You can’t even acknowledge that-”

“Acknowledge what?” Toni demands. “What proof do you have?”

Bucky’s jaw goes taut. “He had numerous conversations with your would-be killer, leading up to two months before the guy decided to break ranks and barbecue you in your own fucking office. Why the fuck was he in contact with a guy who’d been sacked from your company ages ago?”

“That-that doesn’t mean anything,” Toni argues. “Maybe he found out that the guy was planning something, maybe trying to sue me for some up-jumped charge and he wanted to take care of it before I even heard about it.”

“He bought a property downtown,” Steve says, quietly. “An old warehouse by the docks. Doesn’t seem like Stane’s scene, does it?”

Toni shakes her head. “Maybe he has a newfound interest in property,” she says. “Maybe he’s planning on using it as a warehouse for Stark Industries. I don’t know; what do you want me to say?” she asks, desperate and half-wild.

Bucky scowls hard. “We want you to acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, your godfather is the villain in this story, that maybe he’s capable of hurting you and hurting your kid, and maybe, he’s not the Santa Claus, holly-jolly type that you’ve always thought he was. Maybe, he’s out to get you; maybe he wants to _kill_ you.”

Toni’s face thins. “Well, I won’t. _I won’t_ ,” she says, stubbornly. “You’ve got it wrong; you’re jumping to conclusions; you’re making connections between innocent things that don’t mean _anything_. Obie isn’t trying to kill me,” she says, furiously. “Do you even… do you even realise what you’re trying to tell me here? Obie…” her mouth goes dry for a brief moment. “Obie has always been there for me. He’s _always_ been there. He used to… he used to _pay_ attention to me. Do you have any fucking idea how many people paid attention to me?” she demands. “Jarvis and Obie, that’s it. Just Jarvis. And Obie. That’s it. I’ve-I’ve called him _Uncle Obie_ for most of my life; he bought me birthday presents, gave me candy, took me to museums, pretended to be oblivious when he’d catch me sneaking out to go and meet _you_ ; when I-I was five, he gave me a Rubik’s cube, and I solved it in three seconds, and he threw me over his shoulder, roaring like a monster and pretended to eat me. _That’s_ the guy that you’re accusing of trying to kill me.”

“Toni, we’re not denying that he means a lot to you, that this must be really hard for you to believe-” Steve tries to soothe.

“You’re damn right,” Toni snaps. “You’re… you couldn’t possibly understand what this means to be, that of all the people in my life, you think _Obadiah Stane_ is trying to _off_ me and steal my kid and turn him into some fucking… some fucking puppet for him to use. He… he’s all I’ve had since Jarvis died, the last thing connecting me to my parents; he… he was there through everything, he came to the fucking morgue at three in the morning when I got the call that my father had wrapped his fucking car around a tree with my mother in the backseat. For fuck’s sake, he danced with me at my wedding; he… he was there when Peter was born, in the hospital. He was _there_ , and now, you’re trying to tell me that, what, it was all lies, that he didn’t care, that he’s never cared, that he’s just been waiting for the best possible moment to strike, to get rid of me, so he can swarm in and take over and-and…”

“Toni,” Bucky tries to interject.

Toni shakes her head, a dark glitter in her eyes. “You… you wouldn’t understand. You wouldn’t. When I had nothing, I had Obadiah. When, when you left me, when you _abandoned_ me, I had Obadiah. And you, you can’t just come here, after all of these years, after everything that you’ve done to me, and pretend like _he’s_ the bad person, when-when he was there, and he tried his best to put the pieces of me back together after you two were done with them,” she snarls.

She drags her hand over her face, her throat suddenly numb, her heart thundering in her chest.

“No, no, you don’t get to do this, you don’t get to come back into my life, pretend like you’re on my side and then decide to accuse my fucking _godfather_ of trying to kill me. You don’t get to _do_ that; you don’t get to… not after…”

Her outrage is suddenly choked by tears.

“You’re trying to make me think that Obadiah is exactly like Ty,” she says, suddenly, taking a deep, shuddering breath, as her hands start to shake.

“Toni,” Steve says, worriedly, stepping forward, his blue eyes trained on her hands, the way the colour rises high into her face

Toni doesn’t quite hear him. “And that’s… that’s just not possible,” she stammers. “Because I would’ve seen it, I would’ve _realised_ it. After everything with Ty, I’m _sure_ I would’ve seen it, seen another man trying to fuck me over for his own benefit. I’m used to it by now. I would’ve seen it. _I would’ve seen it._ ”

 _I would’ve seen it_ , she promises herself. _I’m not stupid. I am done with people making me stupid. I would have seen it._

A harsh, grating laugh escapes her before she can stifle it.

“And… and… what do you two even think of me? Do you really think I’m just some fucking wilting flower victim waiting to be saved, who has absolutely no idea what the fuck is going on around her?” she demands. “Do you think I’m not capable of finding these things out for myself? Don’t fucking worry, I’ve gotten pretty fucking used to these sorts of types in my life, gotten really good at identifying them and getting rid of them before they can ruin me. I learned from the best after all,” she says, fixing them with a glare that would strip the bark from a tree. “Do you really think, if I’d had the slightest indication that Obadiah was the sort of fucked-up, traitorous, self-serving, sociopathic bastard that you’re trying to tell me he is, after I let him near my _son_ , that I wouldn’t have hesitated to kill him, to remove him from this fucking plane of existence the same way that I killed Ty?”

She says it without thinking, without breathing, some angry, fearsome thing in her chest taking control of her tongue before she can stop it, before she claw back those damnable words, the ones that she’d never admitted to anyone, not even Rhodey, who, to this day, despite how much he hated Ty and Ty hated him, believes that Ty’s death was a complete accident, alcohol poisoning or something.

And then, time stops.

They stare at her.

Her face curdles, her mouth twisting, ugly and wretched.

“There you go,” she says, quietly, after a moment. “I actually said it out loud,” she muses. “You know, I’ve never said it out loud before. It almost feels… nice,” she says, surprised.

“Toni,” Bucky says, his face heavy with some unknown worry. “Oh, Toni.”

He says it, her name, with such grief, such rough sorrow, that it feels like a solid punch to her jaw, jarring her in a way, bringing her back to reality.

She takes a step back, just as they take a step forward.

“I… I…” Toni stammers, her voice thin and high.

She sinks down into a chair and covers her face with her hands, her fingers fisting in her hair, tight against the scalp.

“Oh, my God,” she moans. “Oh, my God. Why did I tell you that? Why would I have… why would I have told the two of you that, out of everyone?” she wonders out loud, her teeth cutting into the inside of her lip. “I don’t understand,” she says, in a small voice, vulnerable and open, like she’s still like that child that she was when she last saw them before all of this.

Bucky and Steve kneel in front of her. They don’t even flinch to lay their hands on her knees, and what does it say about her that she doesn’t immediately kick them away.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Steve asks, with his soft eyes and his soft face, and his pathetically earnest expression.

Toni laughs, full of venom. “What do you want me to say? I got back together with Ty around a year after we broke up. We were fucking before that too, for at least eight months.”

Bucky and Steve flinch, realising that she didn’t wait more than four months after them to crawl into bed with someone else.

Toni doesn’t bother to feel shame; they’d been over when she let Ty slide his hands up her dress in some gala party that they’d both been invited to.

“We were… you know that we were old friends, yeah?” Toni says, dragging her hand over his face. “And we were in the same circles, so there were a lot of events that we saw each other at, and I… I wasn’t in a good place back then,” she hedges.

At the time, she was just coming off the terrible heartbreak that she’d experienced at Steve and Bucky’s hands, and she was stupid enough to believe that time had done away with all of those violent tendencies that Ty had always been famous for with her.

“It was at some gala night; he slipped me a glass of wine from somewhere, and he looked down at me with those eyes of his,” she muses. “And he was just smiling at me, and I was smiling at him, and it was like nothing had ever changed between us; it was like none of those intervening years had ever happened.”

That night, Ty led her through the museum that they’d come to commemorate, running through the halls, her heels clacking against the ground, and she was laughing, laughing like she hadn’t laughed in months, and it felt good, it felt nice to have her lungs expand to their fullest.

Before she knew it, he had her against the wall, his arms on either side of her, crowding her. He nudged his nose against hers and just lingered there, didn’t touch her beyond that, and they stayed like that, trapped in a perfect moment, and the entire world beyond the two of them melted away, and it was just them.

“I kissed him first that night,” Toni says, honestly, without missing a beat. “And we had sex at that gala night. It was like I was coming home.”

She peers at them through the dip of her eyelashes, and they’re displeased, unhappy – she wonders if they think that she should have kept herself clean and chaste for them, and the idea of her letting someone else inside her, put their hands all over her body, it’s just too much for them to bear, actually making them sick to their stomach.

“And we started seeing each other again. It was easy enough to slip into old habits. My dad didn’t like it,” she muses. “But I don’t think my father liked anyone that I was seeing. And with Ty, I think that he thought that Ty was just using me to get to him, or that it was some weird corporate honeypot type thing. It wasn’t. Ty wasn’t really interested in the whole arms dealer business, and my father wasn’t touching the media business with a ten-foot pole. At the very least, he thought Ty was reaching too far above his station. We were much richer than Ty’s family, after all. My father hated it, everything about it, everything about me and Ty, but he kept his mouth shut. I frankly don’t know why; he’d always made his opinion clear when it came to the myriad of ways that I was disappointing him.”

Bucky’s face curdles in some undefinable way, and she wants to reach out, peel that inch-thick veneer away from his face, so he’ll finally open his mouth and tell her what he’s thinking, what he’s mulling over.

“My parents died when I was twenty-one,” she goes onto say, in a dull, absent way. “Did you know that?”

Bucky and Steve exchange a look.

“Yeah, we, uh, we saw the papers,” Steve says, quietly.

“Yeah, my dad got drunk and got in a car with my Amma in the passenger seat and wrapped the fucking car around a tree, killing both of them,” Toni says, fierce and feral.

“I didn’t… _we_ didn’t know that he was drunk,” Bucky offers.

“Yeah, that particular fact was kept out of the papers after I may have threatened a couple of the major news giants,” Toni explains. “The stocks would have… they would have shot straight down if it hit the public that the CEO of Stark Industries, primary defence contractor to most democratic nations around the world, was a miserable fucking drunk that killed his wife because he was so irresponsible. I had to stop that from happening. Plus… no one will ever remember her,” she muses.

“Your mother?” Bucky clarifies.

Toni nods. “Yeah, my mother. They won’t know her name, her real name. They won’t know anything about her; they won’t know what she was, what she did, how she was. They’ll think those promotional photos from a fucking gala were the be-all and end-all of Maushmi Iyengar. No one will ever know her, and if I’d let that get into the papers, how she died, that’s all they would’ve remembered for her. She’s already going to be a footnote at the end of _his_ biography. I just didn’t want them to remember that as well.”

She falls silent, staring down at her hands folded in her lap.

“I was at the mansion alone that night,” she remembers. “I woke up with this awful feeling in my chest, like there was something stuck behind my breastbone, making it hard for me to breathe, and then, I heard the knock at the door. I went downstairs, and I was terrified, you know, even before I heard the knock. There were two policemen on the doorstep, hat in hand, and they said to me, all polite, _Ms Stark, there’s been an accident_. The first thing that I asked was whether my mother was alright. I mean, what does it say about me that I didn’t even ask about him?”

She feels a wretched sort of dryness at the back of her throat, but she goes on.

“They told me to come to the morgue, so that I could identify the bodies. They asked me if there was anyone that I wanted to come with me. Jarvis, he came with me. I would’ve called Rhodey, but he was on tour. I was too… I held Jarvis’ hand the whole way through. Obie was already there at the morgue.” She rubs at her temples. “You know, I never found out exactly how he knew. Maybe the policemen had come to him too, I don’t know.”

She misses the look that Bucky and Steve exchange between themselves, caught up in her nostalgia.

“In the morgue, they pulled back the sheets, and it was them. I remember turning around and throwing up right on the floor. I just kept vomiting and vomiting until my stomach was empty and I was crying, and I remember Jarvis holding me and Obie telling me that he’d handle all the arrangements, which was good, of course, because I was in no position to do anything for them, not in that moment. It all passed in a haze. I don’t even know how I got myself dressed every morning. I… Ty was there, he came for the funeral. He held my hand through it all; so did Rhodey. And then, there were all these random people coming up to me, telling me about how amazing my father was, how much of a patriot he was, how much he did for his country, how charming and loyal he was, and I kept thinking, wow, they are all full of shit. They didn’t know him at all. No one mentioned my mother at all.”

She runs her thumb over her lower lip.

“And then, I went home, and Rhodey and Jarvis helped me clean the mansion. You have to… you have to wash the home, when someone dies,” she explains, her head pounding. “In my culture, and that’s what I did. Ty stayed with me. I was surprised with that, frankly. I didn’t think he’d stay; funerals… funerals weren’t exactly his scene. He didn’t like to linger on the dead. But he stayed. I wonder… I wonder if I married him because he did that for me, set aside his disinterest for it all, the grief and the sorrow and the pointless wailing and mourning, and came to be with me. But we didn’t actually get married until I was twenty-four, three years after my parents died.”

She remembers the day well, the cliffside where she got married. She wore white, as was expected, and kept thinking the whole day that her mother would have hated it, hated all of it, the white most of all, because white is a mourning colour where she comes from. Ty looked so handsome waiting there for her, and she’d never seen anyone look at her the way he looked at her when he saw her coming for him.

Jarvis had walked her down the aisle; he was still alive then, and Pepper, who’d become her closest friend in such a small amount of time, was her maid of honour, and the vows were done in a matter of moments, because they’d decided to go with the standard ones, and she was even surprised at how short it was, because before she even knew what was happening, she was saying _I do_ , and so was he, and then, he was kissing his bride.

“I got pregnant pretty soon,” she tells them. “Within a year. It was… I mean, there were a lot of people that thought I couldn’t do it, that made the comments that I might end up like my mother: one healthy baby and a lifetime of miscarriages and stillborns. But I got pregnant so quickly, and the pregnancy was a breeze, and everywhere I went, people wanted to touch my belly and were telling me that I had a glow about it, and it was all bullshit, because being pregnant sucks,” she declares. “I was constantly exhausted, and I was throwing up everywhere, and I got _fat_ , and my knees were creaking like I was fucking seventy, and I had stretch marks, and I had rashes, and I was having chest pain just by walking up a flight of stairs. It _sucked_. I didn’t want to be pregnant,” she confesses.

Bucky and Steve look up at her with surprise.

“Yeah,” she says, dryly. “I’ve never told anyone that either. I absolutely did not want to be pregnant.”

“Why not?” Steve asks after a moment, hesitating.

Toni shrugs. “I was twenty-four, almost twenty-five,” she says, flatly. “And I had a tiny human growing inside me. I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to be a mother. I didn’t want to bring another human, a human that was solely and wholly dependent on me, into this world, into my life, give it my fucked-up, diseased genetics and then, watch it hate me and resent me one day, after everything. I didn’t want to screw it up. I didn’t… I didn’t think I was capable of being a mother. I didn’t think I could be a good mother. So, I thought about getting an abortion.”

They blink slow and wide at her, but they don’t say a word, they don’t pass judgment, they don’t demand answers or question her on her decision-making or decide that she’s a terrible, terrible human being, because what woman, what whole, decent woman would get rid of something so innocent, so sinless as a baby growing inside her.

No, they remain silent.

“I thought about it, and I did all the research, and I even made an appointment, and I never told Ty. He… he wouldn’t have cared, honestly. He wasn’t much interested in me when I was pregnant,” she muses. “He didn’t care. He just thought it was a natural progression in our relationship. We got married, and now I was pregnant, and we were going to have a kid. We were performing for our society in record time. No, he didn’t care, and this was all mine. It was my baby, it was my body, it was my problem. So, that morning of the appointment, I woke up in bed alone. Ty was on some business trip, and I deliberately made sure that the appointment was scheduled for a day that he wouldn’t be around.”

Steve is the brave one, reaching out to tangle his fingers with hers.

“So, what changed your mind?”

Toni clears her throat, her thumb dragging at her eyelids. “It wasn’t some great moment of epiphany,” she tells them, dryly. “It’s not like I felt the baby kick and felt some overwhelming love for it or anything. It wasn’t like that at all. Honestly, it was so fucking stupid. I was going downstairs, and I tripped over my own fucking feet, and I managed to grab the railing before I went tumbling down, and it was the fear that did me in, in the end.” She shakes her head. “My hand was on my belly before I even knew what was happening, and I… I’d never felt fear like that before, clamping around my entire body like a steel vice, and I thought I was going to die, and I was _afraid_ , not for myself, but for this little thing inside me, and I’d never felt like that before. And I was determined to never feel that way again, I was determined to protect this thing inside me, because it was _mine_ , it was all mine, in a way that nothing else has ever been. It wasn’t even Ty’s, for all that he’d contributed to the conception and everything. It was just _mine_ , and well, as fucked up as it sounds, I’ve always been a possessive bitch.”

“So, what changed?” Bucky asks, gently, his eyes intent on hers.

“Oh, well, like I’m a possessive bitch, Ty is a possessive bastard. When I had the baby, he wasn’t even there, you know?” Toni shakes her head in disgust. “I had the baby on my own, with no one else there, and it was scary, it was terrifying, and there was blood and I was in so much pain, but at the end of it, they put that little body in my arms, and he opened his eyes and he looked up at me, and I was completely _gone_. I was… there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for that boy, that I wouldn’t remake myself into just for him. When I got to take him home, I spent all my time with him, Stark Industries, everything else around me be damned. I would spend hours staring at him, at his big, dark eyes and his little hands and feet. Ty hated that. He just _hated_ it. He hated it. He hated my attention on anyone but him. He hated that he’d come home, and I wasn’t interested in him at all.”

They watch her for a long, quiet moment.

“He hit for the first time in years when Peter was only four months old,” Toni tells them, her expression turning solemn and strained. “He hadn’t… you know, he had a temper back then, back when we first used to see each other, before I met you two, and he’d hit me back then. He… he had this thing, where he used to get me drunk, and I’d inevitably piss him off in some way, and he’d hit me, and he couldn’t face the fact that he’d actually done that, so he’d pretend, when I woke up and couldn’t remember anything, like I was just super clumsy, like I was just… really bad at walking when I was drunk, and get into all sorts of scrapes. He slipped a couple of times, though, when I was sober and stubborn, and he belted me across the face. It’s why I left that fancy boarding school and came to yours,” she tells them.

Bucky clambers to his feet, his hands shaking by his side.

“For fuck’s sake, Toni,” he mutters under his breath.

 _And here we go_ , she thinks.

“And you… you got back together with this guy?” Bucky rounds on her, incredulously. “You… you married him and you had a kid with him, _this guy_ , this guy, who _beat_ you. He _beat_ you, and you went back to him. I just…” he looks away, his face agonised. “Why? Why?”

Toni breathes deep, like she’s in pain. “Because I was in love with him,” she says, honestly.

Bucky just stares at her. “I don’t… I don’t understand,” he says, his voice small as a child’s.

“I was in love with him,” Toni repeats. “Did you think that I just married a guy I didn’t love?”

“But he… but he _hurt_ -”

“He hurt me, he _beat_ me, yes, that is all true, but we were kids back then, and I was stupid enough to believe that he was capable of change.”

There’s a breathless ache in her chest.

“And for years, there was,” Toni insists and hates herself for it, for having to sit here and defend herself, defend her choices to _him_ , to _them_ , of all people, after everything, after everything they did to her, how they hurt her. “For years, he didn’t do anything. He loved me. He _loved_ me. He didn’t hurt me, so I was justified in my belief,” she snaps. “I was justified in thinking that he changed. He changed for _me_ , and I was happy. I wasn’t… I wasn’t fucking ecstatic, but I was happy. And you don’t get to stand there and fucking mock me for not being smarter than that. You don’t get to stand there, and you don’t get to fucking judge me for that, for the choices that I have made. Who the _hell_ -”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky blurts out, sighing, covering his face with his hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair, that’s not right, I… will you please… would you mind going on? You don’t have to, you don’t have to-”


	12. xii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where it all comes to a head!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: past domestic violence, past rape, post-traumatic stress disorder symptoms.

“It happened when Peter was four months old, and I was tired, and I was hungry, and I was struggling with a newborn, and I mouthed off at him, and he lost his shit, backhanded me across the face,” Toni says, her voice almost dull, practically absent. “He apologised immediately, of course; he had tears in his eyes, and he was holding me, and he was telling me how sorry he was, and how he’d never do it again, even while I was huddled up against the door, shaking, clutching at my face. The next day, there was a diamond necklace on the bed. That was his apology,” she snorts.

She still has that diamond necklace – it sits in her jewellery box.

“After that, it was slow, but it started again. It started all over again,” Toni says, her sharp face troubled. “He shoved me against walls, threw me at them, practically, so hard that my shoulder was bruised and I was scared that I’d have a concussion. And I’d fight back, and he’d just… he’d get on his knees and kiss me and keep me there, pin me there but in a way that made both of us think that I could get away if I really wanted to, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t get away, and we’d have sex. That’s another way he apologised to me, by fucking me.”

Steve, all at once, looks violent and miserable, and she watches as his fists clench and unclench around air.

“I started flinching, you know,” she muses. “When people would touch me, just innocently, on the shoulder, I would flinch. I didn’t even realise it was happening until Pepper pointed it out. I told her it was because I didn’t like to be touched, and that was true, but the only reason that I didn’t like to be touched was because he was beating the shit out of me whenever I pissed him off. Once he threw me over a couch, shoved me so hard that I rolled over the back and onto the floor. I was in my underwear. Another time, Peter didn’t put his toys away, so Ty gathered up all the Legos in a box and threw them at me. He choked me. Sometimes, he just slapped me. Sometimes, he just kept punching me, punching me so hard that he broke a rib. When people asked me what happened, I told them one of my experiments in the lab got away from me. No one ever suspected it.”

“No one,” Steve chokes. “No one ever thought, _oh, shit, what if that bastard’s hurting her_?”

Toni lifts an eyebrow. “What, you think anyone looked at Tiberius Stone and thought he was capable of beating the shit out of his wife and mother of his son?” she practically taunts. “He was… he was perfect, you know, Ty. He was the _perfect_ guy, wherever he went. His politics were perfect; he spoke out for abortion and child marriage and sex slavery and transgender rights and climate change and disability rights and racism and intersectionality and toxic masculinity and domestic violence and _rape_. He said all the right things. He, at all times, talked about how beautiful and competent and genius and brave his wife was. He always had a story about her to tell his colleagues and his friends and his peers. He was always, _oh, my wife did that, my wife did this, she’s going to change the world one day._ ”

She swallows past the lump in her throat.

“He gushed about his son and carried perfect family photos in his wallet. He never seemed like _that_ guy, the guy that was jealous of his wife’s success and her intelligence and the fact that she was better than him, that she’d always been better than him, and that she would always be better than him. He never put her down; he never asked her to be anything that she wasn’t; he never talked over her; he always listened to whatever she had to say; he never made jokes at her expense, not even those edgy, _I secretly hate my wife_ jokes. He treated her like a human being worthy of his respect to everyone. He was the man who was desperately in love with his wife. Who would have looked at him and seen otherwise?”

She smooths her hands along her thighs.

“Besides, you think people in my world care?” she asks, derisively. “You really think they care if your husband hits you once in a while? You think people in _your_ world _care_? No one does, believe me on that. You take your licks, and if you see the way out, you fucking leave, but don’t give me some bullshit about how the whole world is on my side or every other domestic violence victim’s side, because they’re not. They’re not. They look at people like me with pity or horror, and they give me their empathy, but in reality, they’re waiting for that magical moment where we run the fuck away from our abuser, because only then do we actually start being people to them. Before that, we’re just wasted potential, the dog that you see being kicked in the street. No one cares about us.”

Steve looks fragile, completely bent out of shape. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

Toni shrugs.

“But… but… you have friends, you have Rhodey and your assistant, and they, what, you don’t think they would’ve helped you?” Steve asks, gaping at her in disbelief.

“Of course they would have,” Toni says, dismissively. “But Rhodey was on tour a lot, and Pepper, I love Pepper, she’s one of my best friends, but like I said, Ty was a very good actor. To Pepper, he seemed like the perfect husband, and it wasn’t like every night I went home, he broke one of my bones with a fucking frying pan. He was _good_ ,” she tells them, her voice cracking a little. “He was good. He treated me nice. He ate dinner with us, and he played with Peter, and we used to go on holidays together. He was _good_. There were just a couple of times when he was bad.”

“So, what changed?” Bucky braves himself to ask.

Toni sends him a bitter, mirthless smile.

“Well, as Peter got older, let’s just those times when he was bad became more and more commonplace,” she tells them. “He liked it best when I was quiet and demure; he started getting angry when I fought back in public, when I didn’t just smile and nod and accept his shitty opinions as objective truth in front of all of his pampered, gelatinous blue-blood friends. He liked me fighting back behind closed doors, but I could never fight back hard enough or loud enough or vicious enough that he felt like less of a man. Perish the thought. He wanted me to hide everything that made me _me_ , like my genius and my charisma, and he only ever wanted people to see my obligation and my love for him and this family that we’d made together.”

Ty had wanted her to dote on him, wanted her to want sex as much as he wanted it and want it with him, whatever way he liked it, even if they had a small child and she was running a fucking multi-billion-dollar company and she was fucking tired; he wanted her to bare her words and her soul and her mind to him, and have it aligned to what he wanted from her.

After a while, all of that _oh, I love you for who you are_ died away, and Ty just wanted his perfect wife, just the right side of dumb, but sexy all of the time, without trying, the provoker of envy. He wanted every man and woman to look at Antonia Stark on Tiberius Stone’s arm and for them to want to kill themselves in hunger for her, wanted them to know the man of man that tamed the beast. He wanted her to be predictable and loyal, but with just enough of bite to keep things interested. He wanted her flawless but still full of flaws, flaws that make her endearing, flaws that he can joke about to his ‘not-friends’, flaws that he thinks he can fix or smoothen out.

He wanted her to be a good girl, be _his_ good girl, be ignorant and honest and troubled and attractive, the perfect modern-day romance novel, with the complicated female protagonist, but not too complicated that he can’t bring her to heel.

And so, she got used to faking it, pretending exactly what he wanted her to be, the only kind of power she had in her hands when faced with a behemoth like Ty. She got used to dumbing herself down, flashing a smile or her tits, and let him get handsy with her in the car before they climbed out to the cameras of the paparazzi. She stopped acting like a bitch, preferred to play coy and soothing and the sort of girl that stroked a man’s collar, nudged her nose against his pulse to calm him down from his rage.

She became his gift that he couldn’t wait to unwrap, and she was sophisticated, the perfect society wife, and she took a back seat, allowed herself to become Mother and Wife instead of Woman. It made her itch, it made her want to claw her eyes out, and it was a shit bargain to make, to make herself small so that Ty would be big and like himself big, but it was a safe spot – it allowed her to be there for Peter, to be everything that he needed, and still manage to walk into her office at the top of Stark Tower and be the big, boss bitch, as if she weren’t two different people, with two different faces and minds and instincts.

“I… it wasn’t honestly like a slow deterioration, you know, how I came to the decision to kill him,” she says aloud. “I… it happened when Peter was three, and I was in the shower, and he punched me in the ribs so hard that I hit the glass, and then, I was on the ground. I don’t even… I don’t even remember what I did to make him so angry. He just kept hitting me, and then, he was kicking me, and I was cowering in front of him, and I was just trying to push him away, and I think… I think Peter came into the bedroom, asking for me, and Ty went to get rid of him, and he came back into the bathroom, and he got down on the floor with me, as I was curled into this ball and I was crying; he touched me, and I almost started screaming. I was just flinching over and over again, and I was… I was only in my underwear, you know. And then, he just got so fucking fed up of me hiding from me. He gave me this little disappointed sigh, you know, and he pulled me up by my hair, and I was in so much pain, and I was crying so hard, and there were bruises all over me, marks, cuts, and it hurt, _god, it hurt so much_ -”

She draws an audible breath, her lungs in her throat, as the memory of the panic, the hurt claws at her throat.

Steve’s hands settle around her own, grounding her, and she takes another breath, this one deep and shuddering, one that makes her lungs rattle in their cage.

“And he told me to stop being such a fucking weakling, because Peter needed me. And that’s when I realised something.” She lifts her eyes to meet theirs, cold and defiant. “I could keep pretending. I could do what he wanted, flutter around his moods, make myself small all that I could, but one day, it was very likely that he’d just get fucking sick of it and kill me. So, I made my decision. I thought, _I am not going to be the one that dies here_. I thought, _Peter needs me, he needs me more than he’ll ever need someone like Ty_. And I couldn’t be his mother, not really, not meaningfully, if I was sitting here and taking this shit from Ty. So, the next night, Ty came home, really tired, already halfway to drunk, and I poured him a finger of scotch, mixed with something special, and when he didn’t wake up the next day, I started screaming and I called the police.”

“Shit,” Bucky says, definitively. He angles his entire body to look at her. “What did you put into his scotch?”

Toni bares her teeth. “Let’s just say that I do, on occasion, dabble in biochemistry, and there are many ways to make up a toxin that can mimic the symptoms of a sudden cardiac death and not show up on any autopsy report.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky offers.

“For what?” Toni asks, confused.

“That you had to do that, to get rid of him,” Bucky says, his voice strained, taut at the edges. “If you’d… if you’d come to us, we’d have done it for you.”

“In a heartbeat,” Steve agrees.

“That’s terribly sweet,” Toni says, dragging her hand over her face, her brow damp with sweat. “But he was mine to get rid of, and his death is my burden to bear. No one else’s. I don’t feel guilty,” she says, firmly. “I did it for my son. I did it so that I could be a good mother to him. I did it so that there was no way that Ty’s anger would inevitably turn on Peter. So I wouldn’t have to watch as my son became just as angry, just as resentful to the world that I was, because his father was an abusive bastard. He deserved better than that, he deserved better than that from _me_. So, I killed him. I killed him for my son, and maybe, one day, when he’s older, I’ll be brave enough to tell him that, but I did it for him. _That’s_ what I’m willing to do for my son.”

Her eyes are over-bright when she looks at them, feeling that instinctive bite of frustration.

“So, yeah,” she begins, coldly. “When you tell that I’ve done it again, that I’ve brought another gaslighting, abusive asshole around my _son_ , who might have and would want to hurt him the same way that Ty would have hurt him, that I have been made out to be the _idiot_ all over again, I don’t fucking believe you,” she says, flatly. “I don’t fucking believe you.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Bucky says, throwing his hands up in the air. “You know what, you have to be the most stubborn person I have ever met!”

“Yeah, well, right back at you,” she shoots back, lunging to her feet.

“I can’t believe you don’t see it; I can’t believe you don’t see what he’s doing to you!” Bucky snaps at her. “He’s using you, Tony. He’s using you because he knows he can get away with it. He’s using you because he knows that when you look at him, you see dear, old Uncle Obie, so he can get his shit done with you and _know_ that you won’t have a funny feeling about _anything_ that he does, because he’s Uncle Obie. He’s got you wrapped around his finger so much that he could fucking _kill_ someone in front of you and you’d still be defending him-”

“He’s my family!” she shouts, her voice straining.

“No, he’s not!” Bucky roars right back. “No, he’s not. Not if he’s doing this, not if he’s behind this, he is _not_ your family, Toni. He’s the guy out to kill you and take what you’ve worked so hard to build because he’s a jealous, sociopathic, resentful _bastard_ , and you’re too dumb to see it!”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Toni demands, so hateful, so venomous.

“I think we’re the only ones here who are trying to protect you,” Bucky says, furiously.

“You,” she says, incredulously. “You’re trying to protect me; is that it? _You_?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, defiantly. “Yeah, we’re trying to protect you.”

“You have never tried to protect me from anything,” Toni growls, having the sensation that she’s going to be eaten up with her own spite. “You… you _two_ , you two, you, of all people, don’t get to _stand_ here and claim that you’re acting in my best interests, that you fucking care about me, after everything, after everything that you’ve done to me. You two, you ruined my life, you made me feel like shit, you have jack-shit credibility with me right now. In what universe would I believe _anything_ that you have to say after what you did to me?”

“So, that’s what matters to you right now?” Bucky demands. “We tell you that we think someone is trying to kill you, and you care more about some shitty break-up that happened when were fucking kids?”

“You broke my _heart_!” she screams at him. “Don’t you get it? You _broke_ my heart, and I… it _hurt_ , okay, it hurt _me_ , _you_ hurt me, and-”

“And, even after all this time, you still don’t have any fucking clue what happened, do you?” Bucky says, finally, cutting right over her.

“Bucky,” Steve sighs, climbing to his feet. “Bucky, maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

“What? You think it’s better that she keeps _blaming_ us for this shit, blaming us for something that wasn’t even our fault in the beginning, after what _she_ did, what she _said_ about us?” Bucky asks, the look on his face black and ominous.

“It happened years ago,” Steve says, quietly. “Do we really need to be rehashing this?”

Bucky laughs, harsh and grating. “I don’t think we need to be, but she keeps throwing it back in our fucking faces _constantly_.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Toni asks, their words giving her pause, souring her like curdled milk

Bucky rounds on her, his lips thin and taut. “What do you think you happened back then, that led to the end of our relationship?” he asks, carefully.

“I… I…” she flounders for words. “We talked about this already. Do we really have to go back over this?”

“For my sake, would you please just tell me why you think we broke up?” Bucky repeats, insistently.

“Fine,” she huffs. “You broke up with me because you didn’t want me anymore,” she says, the shame burning hot across the back of her neck. “You broke up with me because you suddenly realised that the two of you were all that you needed in the world, and me, I was suddenly irrelevant, not needed, so I got dumped out with the trash.”

“Yeah, that’s not what happened,” Bucky says, adamantly.

A scowl forms itself across her mouth. “I was _there_. Don’t pretend like-” she begins, hotly

“No, what happened was that a week before we stopped talking to you, a limo ended up at Steve’s apartment,” Bucky says, his words surprising enough that it stops her in her tracks.

“A limo?” she says, sceptically.

Bucky nods. “A limo,” he says, weary and spent in his whole being. “And Obadiah Stane stepped out.”

Toni’s hands begin to shake.

“What?” she whispers. “What are you talking about?”

“He was really polite and all, righteously indignant, you know,” Bucky goes on. “Came up to Steve’s apartment while I was there, so he could talk to both of us, make us clear on some facts. He told us what you’d told him.”

“What did I tell him?” Toni asks, almost absent.

“He told us how you’d gone to him and your dad and told them that these two assholes forced you to be in a relationship with them, that they were hurting you, that we’d hit you heaps of times and we’d forced you to have all sorts of kinky threesome sex with you and that we only wanted you because of your dad’s money and that we were giving you drugs and we’d taken photos and shit of you to keep as blackmail.”

He shakes his head in disgust.

“So, he came to us and he told us how pissed your father was, how much he wanted our heads on a fucking pike, and all the different ways that a man like Howard Stark could get rid of white trash like us. He told us that he’d talked your father down from a fucking ledge, that he’d talked him away from having us killed, because that’s the sort of thing that your father could do, but that he still wanted us to be fucked up. He was even nice about it, you know, in that slick, oily, car salesman type of way. He said that we were probably boys that just needed to be straightened out, that if it was anyone else, he’d have probably not given a shit, but you were the virgin-white daughter of Howard Stark, after all, the fucking golden goose, the heir to the entire fucking empire. And they didn’t want to make a big deal about it, you know, didn’t want shit to get in the papers about the three of us and ruin you even before you’d even started. He didn’t want the public to think that you were just some rich slut spreading it for the fucking vermin of the city, even if we’d forced you into that shit in the first place. We should probably be glad that he didn’t send some fucking thug to come and break our legs.”

Bucky takes a deep, steadying breath.

“Nah, we escaped a beating and the police and the arrests that Obadiah had no problem with threatening us with. Howard apparently decided to go with a restraining order instead, so we’d stay away from you. The best way to end things with a clean break; that way, you could get on with your life and pretend that we’d never come near you in the first place, that you’d never slummed it with us, and you could pretend like your perfect, untouched, austere existence was safe. You could go on to marry some great man of industry, one that your father wholeheartedly approved, and have a bunch of babies with that asshole and you could forget that you’d ever met us.”

“That’s why you stayed away from me, because of the restraining order?” she asks, her voice dull and absent, faint.

Bucky nods. “We didn’t come anywhere near you; how could we? We’d have been arrested,” he points out, and then, his face changes, contorts into something bitter and seething and furious. “So, yeah, when you say that your shitty victimised version of what happened is the truth, it’s _not_ ; it’s bullshit. It’s fucking insulting that you would stand here and whinge about the fact that _we_ ruined _your_ life when you told your father all this shit about us, all these lies about what we supposedly did to you, when you went to _court_ to make us stay away from you, and you pretending like _you’re_ the fucking victim-”

“I didn’t know,” she blurts out, crumbling back into the chair. “I didn’t-”

She stares down at her upturned palms splayed wide on her thighs. She clenches her hands together, her nails digging half-moons into her hands, and she shakes her head, closing her eyes.

“I didn’t…” she bites her lip, worrying her teeth on the flesh. “I didn’t know anything about this. How…” she looks up at him, her eyes enormous in her face. “How do I know that you’re telling the truth?” she asks, quickly. “This might just be some way of you trying to get out of-”

Steve suddenly flees the room, and Toni is left staring at him, waiting for him to return, and he does return, clutching at a worn-out piece of paper between his fingers, his face hard and stern, like she’s never seen it before (Bucky had been angry, right from when he’d reappeared in her life, but Steve, Steve was soft, had looked at her with those big, blue eyes, and it was like he still loved her; if she closed her eyes, she could fake it and pretend like he did love her).

“Here,” he says, his voice clipped and terse. “You still fucking think that we’re lying to you?”

Toni unfolds the piece of paper that he handed her, her eyes scanning it thoroughly.

_Now, therefore, it is hereby ordered that Steven Grant Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes observe the following conditions of behaviour:_

  1. _Refrain from communication or any other contact by mail, telephone, email, voicemail, or other electronic or any other means with Antonia Maria Stark;_
  2. _Refrain from assault, harassment, aggravated harassment, menacing, reckless endangerment, strangulation, criminal obstruction of breathing or circulation, disorderly conduct, criminal mischief, sexual abuse, sexual misconduct, forcible touching, intimidation, threats, identity theft, grand larceny, coercion or any criminal offence against Antonia Maria Stark._



Toni closes her eyes, drags her hand over her face. “Oh,” she says, in a small voice, in a child’s voice. “What… what the fuck is this? I’ve never-I’ve never seen it...” she bites her lip. “I’ve never even seen this before.”

“You’ve never seen this before?” Steve clarifies.

“Of course not,” Toni snaps, leaning into her anger. “Do you really think… you really think I had something to do with this? I wouldn’t-I wouldn’t have… oh, _fuck_ , what the fuck is going on here?” she demands, her voice rough and cracking at the edges.

“It’s a restraining order,” Bucky says. “See the signature at the bottom?”

Toni’s eyes dart down, and her stomach cramps in fear, as she recognises the old, looping scrawl at the bottom.

 _Howard Stark_.

“He… he wouldn’t have done this, would he?” Toni says, aloud, something burning in her chest, around her breastbone, constricting with each breath that she takes. “He…”

“After all of these years, you still the best of him, huh?” Bucky asks, coldly, shaking his head.

“No, no, you don’t understand,” Toni says, making a hurt little noise at the back of her throat. “My father… he never did _anything_ without making clear to me how much of a fucking disappointment I was to him. If he… if he did this to you, why did he never say anything to me? Why didn’t he…”

“Maybe, he thought he was being a good father,” Steve says, quietly. “Keeping you away from the trash that was hurting you. Maybe he didn’t want to remind you of everything that had happened to you.”

“That’s-that’s _bullshit_!” she shrieks. “I… I didn’t know anything about this!” she says, waving the restraining order at it.

Suddenly, she’s staring it and dropping it as if the paper itself is diseased, her fingers curling into a claw.

“What the…” she closes her eyes, and when she opens them, they’re damp and unseeing. “I didn’t tell my father anything,” she says, patiently. “I promise, I didn’t tell him anything.”

Bucky and Steve just watch her.

She scratches the back of her neck. “I don’t even understand what’s happening here,” she says, dully.

“You didn’t tell your father anything,” Bucky says, quietly. “You didn’t tell him that we hurt you, that we were…” he swallows hard, painfully. “That we were hitting you and forcing you to-to have sex with us or using you for money-”

“No,” she says, vehemently, her pulse a heavy thud under her skin. “No, I did _not_. You think… I _told_ you about Howard, about the sort of relationship that we had; you think I went running to Daddy, telling him about my two white boyfriends that I met at _public_ school. He would have _killed_ me. As far as I knew, he… he didn’t even know I was seeing you. I didn’t tell him anything; I don’t understand-”

She remembers the summer after high school had finished, as she’d packed her things and prepared to go to MIT full-time to finish up her doctoral theses, the way that Howard had been so awkward around her, as she’d left. He’d even embraced her, if she remembers correctly, had clutched at her tight and told her that everything would be okay, that _he_ would make everything okay, that she had nothing to worry about.

In a show of great emotion, Toni had even embraced him just as tight, burying her face against his shoulder, tired and hurt and scared, and she hadn’t thought much of it, honestly, had thought it was just her father in his old age, having a moment of weakness.

Perhaps, there had been a much dastardlier reason by his show of affection on that day; maybe, Howard had acted like that because he thought that he’d just managed to save her from an abusive relationship that might have ruined her life.

Or maybe, and this made her sick right down to her gut, Howard had made all of it up: the accusations of abuse and sexual assault and revenge porn and emotional and financial abuse and the drug addiction, all so that he could get her away from two boys that he’d deemed unworthy of her and the legacy of their family.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she says, dully, and before she even knows what’s happening, she’s doubling over and emptying out the contents of her stomach cavity right onto the floor.

She doesn’t stop vomiting even when her throat starts to burn and her eyes start to water, and suddenly, there are arms wrapping around her, tightening their hold around her, grounding her to this earth, and she starts crying, crying heavy, heaving sobs that drag out of her chest and throat, the tears making her face damp.

“Fuck, Bucky, get me some tissues,” she hears in the background.

“Here, here’s a towel. Let me, uh, let me just clean this up.”

Hands are pushing her back down onto a chair, and she can’t stop crying, can’t stop the floodgate now that it’s been broken open and brought down to dust.

When she manages to centre her vision, Steve looms into view, a blurry, pale image.

“There we go,” he says, softly, rubbing something soft over her face, over her eyes and then her mouth, cleaning off the bile that stains her lips. “That’s my girl, there we go. It’s okay, Toni, it’s okay, we’ve got you.”

She’s grasping for his shoulders, her nails biting into his skin. “I didn’t know,” she sobs out. “I swear, I _swear_ , Steve, I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay, honey,” Steve soothes, his hand smoothing back her hair. “It’s okay, it doesn’t matter. We’ll work it out, we’ll work it out, okay?”

“Amma?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this chapter were inspired by sabremc's fic, Catching Lightning in a Bottle.


	13. xiii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: emotional/psychological manipulation, graphic past domestic violence, gaslighting, stockholm syndrome, self-esteem issues, implied/referenced sexual assault

“Shit,” Steve hisses under his breath.

Peter is standing in the doorway, clutching onto the wooden frame for dear life, the fear shining over his soft, young face. He takes a brave step forward.

“Amma, what’s wrong?” he asks in a small voice. “Why are you crying?”

Toni opens her mouth, but no words come out, all the comforting syllables and noises that she might have made dying on the tip of her tongue – what useless being is she that she can’t even be strong for her son, her only son, most likely the only child that she will ever have?

Steve stands, shielding her from Peter’s view.

“Your mom’s not feeling too good, Pete,” he says, quickly, with a short smile.

Peter’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Why? What’s wrong with her?” he demands.

Steve’s throat flexes. “She’s just not feeling too good, Pete. It might have been something that she ate.”

“What did you do to her?” Peter accuses, his eyes narrowing, as he steps forward into the room.

Toni wipes at her eyes, mustering the strength from somewhere. “It’s okay, baby,” she says, her voice dragging like metal against stone. “I’m okay, baby. I’m fine. I’m just… like Steve said, I’m just not feeling well.”

Peter rushes across the length of the room, and mercifully, it looks as though that Bucky had already cleaned up the vomit that had gotten onto the floor, even if the air still smells sour. Peter hurtles into her arms, and she holds him close for a moment, breathes it in, the warmth of his small body against hers, and she feels her eyes welling up over again.

She waits a moment, just like that, holding Peter close to her, before pressing her mouth swiftly against his hair and letting him slip down to the ground.

“It’s okay, baby. Why don’t you go and lie down? It’s time for your nap, anyway, right?”

Peter nods, a little unsure. He bites his lower lip like he wants to say something else, and she trails her fingers down his soft, rounded cheek, a smile curling at the edge of her lips.

“Okay, Amma,” Peter hesitates for an agonising moment. “But don’t you want me to stay with you?”

“I’ll be fine, baby,” she says, softly. “You go and lie down. I’ll come and sit with you in a while, okay?”

“Okay, Amma,” Peter says, sadly, and slowly backs out of the room, his eyes on her the whole way through.

Once Peter disappears around the edge of the door, Toni exhales long and hard and collapses in a fit of hair, her fingers tight against her scalp.

“I don’t know what’s happening here,” she admits, feeling as stretched taut as a drumhead. “I don’t…”

“You really didn’t know what your dad did?” Bucky clarifies from the doorway.

Toni looks up at him and shakes her head, miserably. “No, I didn’t… I…” She looks around, almost desperate, like an animal trapped between the bars of a cage. “Will you sit down?” she blurts out. “Can we… can we talk about this? I want to, uh, I want to understand. I just-”

“Toni,” Bucky looks uncertain, as he looks at Steve. “Toni, uh, doll, this happened so many years ago; maybe we shouldn’t-”

“I know,” she says, almost pathetically earnest, her hands shaking, as she clambers to her feet. “I know, I get it. I do. I’m not saying that it’ll make anything better. I just… I want to know, I want to know what happened, what happened to you and I’ll… I’ll tell you what happened from my point of view, huh? I just… I want to talk about this, please. It’s been so many years and I…”

“Bucky,” Steve says, quietly. “It might do us some good to talk about this,” he offers.

Bucky’s throat flexes. “Okay, fine,” he says, his voice terse and clipped. “Uh, let me go and get some chairs.”

“Thank you,” Toni says, quickly, never having felt so undone like she does in this moment.

Bucky leaves the room, briefly, and comes back with black folding chairs that he sets in front of Toni. He seats himself in one and waits for Steve to sit down before turning his attention wholly on Toni.

“Okay, uh, so, you said that a week before… before you ended things with me completely, someone came to Steve’s apartment?” Toni clarifies.

Bucky nods. “Yeah.”

“And it was Obie, my godfather, and he wanted to-to talk to both of you?” Toni asks, her brow beading with sweat.

“Obadiah Stane is tall, fat with grey-blonde hair, right?” Steve says out loud. “Wears a three-piece suit and stinks like too much cologne?”

Toni nods, biting on her lower lip. “Yeah, that’s, uh, that’s him.”

“Then, yes, it was Stane who came to see us,” Steve tells her.

“What did he, uh, what did he say?”

Bucky makes a soft little noise at the back of his throat, drawing her attention. “Well, he was real polite,” he says, casually, even if his jaw is clenched hard. “He asked if he could come in and talk to us, introduced himself as your godfather. We thought it was cool, because you know, you talked about him so much and you loved him so much. We knew that you hadn’t told your parents about us, of course, because it’s not exactly an easy conversation to have with _anyone_ , the whole _I’m in a committed, monogamous relationship with two people_ , let alone your parents, but then-”

“-we thought maybe you’d told Stane,” Steve explains. “That’s why we let him in.”

“He sat down on Steve’s couch and looked around the apartment. You remember where Steve lived, that walk-up downtown. It was clear that Stane found it wanting,” Bucky says, sneering. “He thought it was… practically a slum, by the way he was looking. And he just sighed, you know, like it hurt him, and he was real polite, folded his hands in his lap and he looked at us and he said, _boys, what are we going to do with this, huh?_ ”

Toni swallows hard – she can imagine it, she can imagine the way that Obadiah would have looked, the words he would’ve used, the honeyed tenor of his voice as well, that grandfatherly skin he would’ve taken on to make it all the more purposeful.

“We were confused,” Steve murmurs, looking nostalgic all of a sudden. “We didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about. And then, when we asked him, he just looked at us, all disappointed, and told us that you’d told him and your father everything, about the fact that you were seeing us, about how you didn’t want to be with us in the first place, that we’d _forced_ you into being in a relationship with us, that we’d _hurt_ you,” he breaks off suddenly, his voice cracking.

That was the worst accusation, Toni realises, the thought that Steve and Bucky were capable of that sort of behaviour, capable of treating her like that, capable of _hurting_ her.

Steve shakes his head. “He had photos,” he says, miserably.

“What?” Toni whispers, biting her lower lip. “What photos?”

Bucky licks his lips. “They were of you,” he says, hollowly. “Your face, your arms, your stomach. There were bruises, a lot of bruises, purple and blue and yellow, and there were cuts, like a split lip, a couple of gashes. And you looked… you looked so bad, so hurt, and I… _we_ … we didn’t know where these photos were coming from, what had happened to you, what was going on, and all we knew was that you were hurt, and you hadn’t told us, and then, Stane was telling us that it was _us_ , that _we’d_ given you those bruises, that we’d hurt you and marked you up and that’s what you’d gone and told your father and Stane. _That’s_ where those photos came from. And we…”

“I didn’t…” Toni’s mouth is pinched tight. “I didn’t… I’ve never seen those photos.”

She blinks.

Bucky tilts his head. “You haven’t, as in they’re not real?” he asks, almost hopefully.

All of these years, she wonders what they’d thought; had they thought this was some fucked-up game of hers, the sociopathic rich girl fucking with the public school boys, ruining their lives, making up lies about them, torturing them, villainising them, because it satisfied something empty and wounded inside her or because she was just that much of a terrible, evil person underneath the beautiful, mercurial exterior? Or had they thought that something worse was going on? Had they thought that someone was actually hurting her, bruising her, bloodying her, that no one was helping her when she needed it the most, and they’d been completely ignorant of all of it? Had they felt guilty? Had they been furious? Had they wanted to protect her? Had they wanted to shield her? Had they wanted to find the person that had given her those bruises, those marks, those cuts, and fuck them over as royally as they’d been fucked over?

What had they thought?

“No, they’re real,” she finds herself saying before she loses faith.

Steve and Bucky look at her, their faces dark and awful.

“I, uh,” Toni swallows hard, staring down at her hands linked in her lap. “I told you about Ty, right? He used to, uh, to beat the shit out of me?”

“When you were married,” Steve says, softly.

Toni shrugs. “The first time around too, yeah,” she reminds them. “Before I came to… to your school, when we were seeing each other then, he used to hurt me. Hit me, punch me, and those bruises that you would’ve seen, yeah,” she blows out a breath between her teeth. “Yeah, I know those photos.”

Steve takes a deep, steadying breath. “Are you trying to say that those photos, the ones that Stane showed us, those were photos of what Stone had done to you the first time around?” he asks, his voice low.

Toni’s smile stretches wide across her face, tight and snug. “The first time around, when I was getting away from him, he didn’t take it well, as you can imagine,” she explains. “He… he would come to my dorm room at MIT and everything, wouldn’t leave, and he’d hit me if I… I even brought up the idea of us breaking up. He _hated_ Rhodey, did I tell you that?” she asks, suddenly.

They shake their heads, wordlessly.

“Yeah, he absolutely hated Rhodey. Thought that the two of us were fucking, so he was insanely jealous,” Toni explains. “And he hated me being at MIT, thought it was… uh, distracting, and he didn’t like anyone or anything having my attention more than him. Plus, he was so certain that I’d be screwing an entire frat house or something and leave him behind. Real insecure he was. And well, he was hurting me the whole time. Rhodey, he, uh, he actually… there was one time, one of the times where Ty accused me of cheating on him with Rhodey, and I lost my shit, and we were fighting, and he slapped me at the same time that Rhodey walked in, and Rhodey almost put him in hospital for it-”

“Good,” Bucky says, venomously.

“I stopped him, of course, because there was no fucking way that I wanted Rhodey to go to jail because of me, and Ty was the sort of dick that would press charges,” Toni explains, fluttering a hand in the air almost anxiously. “But, yeah, uh, Rhodey was the one who was super eager that I leave him, but when I pointed out that Ty wouldn’t let me go that easily, he, uh, he suggested that I take the photos, but only if I was comfortable. So, I did, just so I had some leverage against if things got bad. But, uh, I never used them against Ty, actually. When we broke up, he gave me shit, of course, but I threatened to stab him in the face with my screwdriver, so it ended up okay, I suppose. I told my dad about it, about Ty and the photos that I took, just in case that it came out later and we needed to mitigate the fallout; he was, uh, it was one of the very few times in my life where my father has been sympathetic about something terrible going on in my life,” she muses aloud. “I never told Obie, though. So, I’m guessing those are the photos that he showed you, the ones that I took just before breaking up with Ty, but I don’t understand where he got them in the first place.”

“They might have been doctored?” Steve offers.

“Maybe,” Toni murmurs, shrugging. “But, uh, it’s just as likely that they’re _those_ photos. Um, Rhodey would be able to tell, for sure, if you still have them. He’s the one that took the photos the last time.”

“We have the photos,” Steve says, haltingly. “He let us keep copies. I always thought he was a bit of a psychopath.”

Toni shakes her head. “I don’t… I gave the photos to my father; how did he get his hands on them unless my father had given them to him? And my father didn’t even _like_ Obie for most of the time,” she muses aloud, fisting a hand in her hair out of stress.

“Why did you go back to him?” Bucky asks, suddenly, miserably.

“What?” she looks at him, strangely.

“I mean… he hurt you so much, and if those photos were the real deal, the photos that Rhodes took back then, after the first time you were with him, he… he was a bad _guy_ , Toni. He was… he was a fucking monster. Why would you go back to him, knowing what he was capable of, knowing what he’d already done to you?” Bucky asks, with that heart-wrenching look of confusion all over his face.

“I… I told you earlier,” Toni says, wringing her hands together. “Remember, I told you…”

“Yeah, you told us that you thought he’d changed, but you… you’re not an idiot. You don’t… look, I remember what you were like at seventeen, and you didn’t trust people, Toni,” he says, solemnly. “You hated people, especially new people, and you were constantly paranoid. I remember that. You said it yourself, it took you ages to trust _us_ ; so, why did you believe Stone so easily when he’d told you he’d changed?”

“He didn’t tell me he’d changed,” Toni says, bluntly.

Bucky’s face flickers with surprise.

“He just… he just never expected me to break up with him because he was hitting me. He… he used to say that it was just how we loved each other, that we were physical, and we fought each other and that we were constantly in love and at war at the same time,” Toni tells him. “To him, I’d just realised something he’d always known and come back to him, and the universe was restored to its rightful place. So, it was me, believing the best of someone who has never shown me the best of him. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“I still don’t think you’re telling us the truth,” Bucky says, stubbornly.

“Fine,” Toni grinds out. “ _Fine_ , you want to know why I went back to him? I’ll tell you. A part of it is because I don’t know how to _not_ love Tiberius Stone.”

Steve flinches, but Bucky’s jaw clenches hard.

“I have loved him practically my entire life. I loved him since I was a kid. I loved him when he beat me, and he insulted me, and made me feel like shit, and I love him when I felt like the smallest version of myself around him. And so it was easy for me to ignore the rest of it, because I loved him so much. But another, more terrible reason for why I went back to him, fell so easily back into his arms, is because of you, the two of you.”

Bucky’s face is painted with unease, while Steve turns into a statue, still on the floor.

“What are you talking about?” Steve is brave enough to ask, his voice clear and even.

“I wasn’t exactly… _okay_ , after things ended between us,” she hedges. “I was… a mess, to say the least. I was drinking a lot, and I was listening to super sad music, and I was doing drugs, like the heavy, party stuff? I was going out to clubs and drinking a whole bottle of vodka and maybe snorting some coke and sleeping with strangers and waking up on strange, filthy mattresses in the middle of nowhere. I would get into bar fights. I once broke a beer bottle on this guy who got too handsy while we were dancing. The police would drag me down to lock-up, and then, Jarvis would show up and bail me out. And so, when I saw Ty at that party, after all these years, maybe, I thought it was fitting. A fitting punishment.”

Bucky makes a soft noise at the back of his throat. “Why… why did you need to be punished?”

“Because I was certain that I’d done something,” Toni says, without flinching. “I was certain that I’d fucked up in some big, significant way and that was why you two broke up with. I was convinced that I was the reason why you two had ended things, that I’d ruined it somehow, like I always knew I would. I realised that I was poison, and _that_ was why you two dumped me, because you’d finally realised how much of a fucking disease I really was, and you didn’t want to have to deal with my shit anymore. And so, as a fitting punishment for my very existence, the years and the life and the strength and the fucking joy I’d stolen from you, that I’d selfishly taken from you, even though I knew what a royal fuck-up I was and how I could never be good enough for you, never be something that you’d actually want and keep, I went back to Ty. He is- _was_ like the other half of me, sometimes. He was just as poisonous, just as fucked-up; we had the same black soul; it was just like God had split that soul in two and put it in different bodies. I was convinced that, despite the fact that I knew that he hadn’t changed, that he suddenly wasn’t going to stop putting his hands on me in ways that I didn’t like, I deserved to be punished, for taking from the two of you what I had no right to take.”

“Oh, my God,” Steve says, his voice faint. “Oh, my God.”

His voice dissolves into a moan, and he buries his face in his hand, shaking his head, repeating those three words over and over again.

Bucky’s eyes are damp, and he wipes at them, stubbornly.

“For fuck’s sake, Toni,” he mutters, his voice wet.

Toni shrugs, simply. “Like I said, there’s no simple reason why I went back to Ty, even knowing what he was capable of, even going through it once before. I loved him, I wanted to try again, I thought he was perfect for me, even if he was a wife-beating bastard, and I… I wanted some redemption for you; I wanted penance, and he seemed like an adequate form of penance.”

“What, being _hit_ by him?” Bucky demands, his face ruddy with anger. “Did he… did he do anything else to you? I mean-”

Toni frowns. “I mean, he left his fair share of scars on me,” she says, honestly. “Didn’t you, uh, didn’t you see them when we…” she makes a strange, fluttering gesture with her hand in the air to mean the phrase, _had sex_.

“I just thought…” Bucky swallows hard.

“You’re always so reckless when you’re in your engineering mode,” Steve says, quietly. “Even when you were seventeen, you used to use blowtorches and shit without goggles. I just- _we_ just assumed that they were scars from there.”

“Ty didn’t really like to mark me up so much,” Toni muses. “Because we’d go out a lot, you know, the other side of being rich and famous, and my dresses, well, Zuhair Murad is my go-to designer for most things, and his stuff shows skin, so… yeah, Ty was always good at not marking me up much. It saved me a bunch of time in the morning to hide the bruises. I sometimes had a shiner, you know, or maybe like a cut around my hairline. Split lip, sometimes, but I usually fobbed that one off as being a notorious lip-chewer. Uh, sometimes, I had a sprained wrist or an ankle; I usually told people that I was drunk and clumsy; it was what he used to tell me back then, the first time, anyway; it ended up being ironic. He usually aimed for my stomach. Those were easy enough to hide, and I just stayed away from the odd bikini or _lehenga_ , you know. Sabyasachi usually covered that shit up too, and when they didn’t, I got pretty good at covering the bruises with make-up. But yeah, he never, uh, he never did anything, you know, drastic; he never threw acid in my face or broke my bones. He never chained me up in the basement. He never tried to run me over with his car. Hell, I went at him with a frying pan, once, you know, and I, uh, kneed him in the balls. We hurt _each other_ so…”

“That’s bullshit,” Bucky says, ferociously.

It takes a moment for Bucky’s voice to crack through Toni’s haze, and when she looks down, her hands are folded so tightly in her lap that her knuckles are taut against the skull, that her skin is a paler shade than the rest of her body, sickly-looking.

“I don’t care if _you_ burned him with a cigarette; you wouldn’t have done it unless he hurt you first,” Bucky says, adamantly.

Toni shakes her head. “I still hurt him so-”

“Those times you mentioned, when you went at him with a frying pan, or you kneed him in the balls, what was he doing right before it?” Bucky demands.

The time with the frying pan, he’d punched her in the stomach while she was making breakfast for Peter.

The time when she kneed him in the balls, he had her pinned to the wardrobe, with one hand in her hair and the other wrapped around her throat, and he wouldn’t let go of her, no matter how much she was struggling.

Bucky clearly sees something in her face that satisfies him, because he smiles, hungry, with the bridge edge of a wolf’s smile, showing a hint of teeth.

“It’s bullshit that you would think that you and Stone were in any way remotely the same, Toni,” Steve says, quietly, but his eyes are hard, hard and sharp. “He was a fucked-up, abusive bastard who deserved everything that he got, and you… you were just trying to do whatever you could to keep yourself alive.”

“He wouldn’t have killed me,” Toni scoffs, but her hands are shaking, because isn’t that why she killed him?

Isn’t that why she killed him, because she thought he’d kill her one day, because she didn’t want to be the one that died in that house, because she didn’t want Peter to grow up with her sad ghost dogging his footsteps, to be _that_ boy, the son of the man who killed his wife, the son of the woman who died a gruesome, ugly death?

He would have killed her.

He wouldn’t have done it immediately, but one day, one day, he would have killed her; she knows it.

“Yes, he would’ve,” Steve says, solemn and strained.

And then, she remembers the conspicuous absence of a man at Sarah Rogers’ side, the way that the pale, thin woman sometimes jumped at a loud noise, how her smile seemed somewhat tight across her face.

She remembers Steve telling her about his father, the drunk, who used to beat sweet, kind Sarah, who’d taken her in like she was her own daughter.

God, what must it have done to Steve to be confronted with Obadiah and the accusation that he was just as bad as his own father? What must it have done to him to know that the accusation had come from _her_ , that she had gone crying to her father about what an absolute monster Steve was?

God, what has she done to these men, these men that might have loved her for years and years?

She’s ruined them, hasn’t she?

Natasha was right. Toni was right.

She is poison.

“I was actually,” Bucky begins, haltingly. “I was actually wondering whether he’d hurt you in other ways,” he says, carefully, his eyes darting from side to side.

Quick as anything, she gets his meaning, and she bites her lip.

She remembers some nights too drunk to do anything about it when Ty stripped her clothes off, set himself between her legs. She remembers sometimes, with his hand around her mouth, as it started to hurt, his hands bruising her and the sensation of his cock inside her a too-painful stretch of her body. She remembers telling him to stop, and him grunting in her ear, promising her that he was almost done. She remembers him making her come every time.

“He was my husband,” she replies. “You know, in some countries, hell, in India, it’s not rape, if it’s your husband fucking you.”

Bucky’s jaw is taut, and Steve curses under his breath, as they realise she’d answered his question.

“And before you were married?” Bucky braves the question.

Toni just gives him a melancholic, dry smile. “He used to beat the shit out of me; you really think he stopped at rape?”

Steve’s eyes are big and wide in his face, so stubborn and so fucking kind, especially when he curls one of his big, pale hands around her knee, and says, so earnestly, “I’m glad you’re here, I’m glad you killed him, I’m glad he can’t hurt you again.”

Tears flood her eyes. “Yeah?” she asks, her voice cracking.

“Yeah, honey,” Steve murmurs, his voice unbearably soft.

She clears her throat, running the edge of her palm under her eyes to dry her face of the tears.

“Tell me what happened after he showed you the photos,” she says, determinedly.

She doesn’t want to leave this room without knowing all of the lies.

Bucky’s face twists up in ill-disguised disdain. “Well, he was telling us this whole story, about how you’d gone to your dad and him and told them about us, how we’d been these nice boys that sat with you at lunch time and then, slowly, we took over your whole life, and we were asking you out on a date, and everything seemed good and nice, and suddenly, we wanted you to have sex with us and we weren’t taking no for an answer. And when you did say no, we were just taking what we wanted from you. Apparently, our entire relationship was just a way so that we could get closer to money, and we’d taken photos and videotaped us having sex so that we’d have something to hang over you. We’d threatened you that if you didn’t get us the money we wanted, we’d release the tape to the tabloids, and so, wanting to protect your reputation and your father’s standing in the business world, you agreed to all of our sick wants.”

“I have never really cared about my father’s standing in the business world,” she says, heavily.

“Like I said, he seemed real nice about it too, like he was actually doing us a favour,” Bucky tells her. “Explained to us how pissed off Howard was, how much he’d raged when you’d told him all of these things, which was weird to us, because you’d only ever told us how much you and your dad didn’t get along. But then we figured, even with your problems, if his kid came to him and told him that she was stuck in this fucked-up, abusive relationship with these two, low-brow guys who were trying to destroy her, any father would react.”

“We didn’t exactly fault him for wanting to protect you,” Steve says, quietly.

“You never actually met my father, did you?” Toni wonders out loud.

“No,” Steve replies.

“Yeah, that’s why you’re able to say that,” Toni says, biting back a sneer. “Because I can assure you, even if our relationship had been like that, even if I had gone running to Daddy for help, which I can tell you right the fuck now that I wouldn’t have, the only thing that my father would have cared about is whether it would’ve gotten out, the sex tape or the rumours, whether it would’ve tanked his fucking stock, whether he would’ve been able to have a civilised lunch with a senator without some old, white bastard bringing up the fact that his daughter was playing the whore to two public school boys. At no stage was he ever concerned about my welfare; hell, the first time around, with Ty, and the photos I took, I only told him in case the whole thing blew up, and Ty went to the fucking tabloids. The second time around, when Howard found out I was seeing Ty again, he wasn’t afraid for me; he wasn’t concerned that his daughter was once again seeing the guy who broke her jaw once; no, all he said was that I was always a wilful girl, but I’d grown up into a stupid woman. So, yeah, in this case and in every case, I can fault him for wanting to protect me because that has never been his agenda.”

“The man’s dead now, so I suppose he can’t defend himself or whatever the fuck he was thinking at the time,” Bucky sighs, resigned.

“If he wasn’t, I might have broken my fist on his face,” she tells him, stubbornly. “Keep going. What else did Obie tell you?”

“Well, he went onto say that he actually liked us, liked the effect that we had on you, that it was probably a bit of a misunderstanding, that you could be quite hysterical sometimes,” Steve says, his mouth turning down at the corners in displeasure. “That you’re often high-maintenance and paranoid, and it was entirely possible that you’d just misunderstood things, after a couple of bad runs with guys.”

Hurt claws at her very being from her ribcage, and she flinches, looking away.


	14. xiv.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for the chapter: implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced domestic violence.

“But you were a daddy’s girl, apparently, not that we’d ever known it-”

“I am not, was not, nor will I ever be a daddy’s girl,” Toni says, coldly. “If anything, I was a Jarvis’ girl.”

“And Howard was on the war path, thinking that someone had messed around with his baby girl.”

Toni’s face curdles with disgust at the thought.

“Apparently, Howard wanted us dead, so that was fun,” Steve mutters under his breath. “He had even talked about paying someone to kill us.”

A dark, acid chill creeps over Toni.

“Apparently, Howard knows people who could do that sort of thing, or Stane knew, something like that anyway. Then, he’d toyed with ruining our lives in the ways that only rich, white men could. You know, make sure my mother lost her job, Bucky’s sister losing her scholarship, something terrible happening to Natasha when she was walking home at night-”

Toni is sick to her stomach – her father could be a bastard, she knew that, she knew it like it was the only true fact in the universe, but she didn’t think he’d been that much of a monster.

At the very least, if he hadn’t loved her, he’d loved her mother, hadn’t he?

But then, he’d forced a woman like Maushmi Iyengar to change her name to something obviously white as Maria Carbonnell so that he wouldn’t lose any of his street cred in the weapons’ making business, so maybe, he’d always been this much of a monster, and Toni had only seen the edges of him, rather than the full picture.

“But Obadiah apparently was our saving grace,” Bucky says, in a way that makes Toni abundantly clear as to how much he hates the idea. “He talked your father off the assassin and life-ruining ledge and assured him that he’d take care of it, _take care of us_. That’s why he came to see us instead of your father. He told us that we were just boys being boys, and the only, real mistake that we’d made is that we hadn’t picked our target properly.”

He sounds absolutely disgusted, which is exactly how Toni feels right about now.

“I mean, if it had been anyone else, our games probably would have worked, but we went for the big bucks right off the bat, so it failed. According to him, we should have started off with small fry first, and then, climbed into the big leagues for our marks. You were, uh, you were too important of a mark on the first go, and apparently, we hadn’t banked on you telling your father everything.” Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “I still can’t believe he said that if it had been anyone else, he and Howard wouldn’t have given a shit. But then, he just… he just reduced you to being their golden goose, the virgin princess, the heir to the empire, untouchable and unfuckable, and I… I didn’t say anything, _we_ didn’t say anything. We didn’t know what to say,” he says, almost dazed.

“We were still caught up with the fact that you’d gone and told your father that we abused you to be able to say anything,” Steve explains, his voice grim, laying a hand on Bucky’s flesh arm as a show of comfort, fingers flexing.

“But yeah, Stane said he’d come here after convincing your father that the whole mess would be better settled in-house, especially if he wanted to keep it on the down-low. He didn’t want it in the papers about you and us and everything that had happened, so that it wouldn’t follow you everywhere you went, long after you’d left us. He didn’t want anyone to think that you were just some rich bitch wanting to get her rocks off by slumming it with the poor people, because apparently, they always blame the woman, even if she is the victim in the situation.”

Well, Obadiah had _that_ correct, at least.

“Howard wanted to pay us off, initially,” Bucky explains.

Toni’s gut twists into a single, hard knot.

“Five million, for each of us,” Bucky tells her. “We told Stane to go and fuck himself.”

Toni breathes a sigh of relief.

“So, then, the threats started. Stane told us that if we didn’t take the money and sign the non-disclosure agreement, Howard could make life very difficult for us, for our families, but we, uh, we didn’t take the money. We didn’t want the money. We just… we just wanted the day to be over. So, they settled on the restraining order, and before we knew it, we were being dragged in front of this judge, who didn’t look too kindly on our Brooklyn accents and our faded, ripped jeans, you know?”

“There was some confidentiality agreement attached to the whole thing,” Steve tells her. “So, it was kept out of the court records and the tabloids and shit, and Howard told the judge that it was because you didn’t want to have anything to do with us anymore, that you were done with us and that you just wanted to forget and not have _us_ hanging over your head, that you just wanted to move on with your lives.”

“So, you met Howard?” Toni clarifies.

Steve nods. “Just the once, at the hearing for the restraining order. He…” he hesitates. “I mean, he’s dead now, so I don’t suppose there’s any point-”

“What? What did he say?” Toni demands.

“He didn’t say anything,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “He just… gave us this look like we were fucking cockroaches.”

“Yeah,” Toni says, wearily, rubbing the palms of her hands over her eyes. “That sounds like dear old Dad.”

“He was pretty insistent that we were just going to be this really unfortunate sliver of your life,” Steve says, coldly. “That way, you could go on with your life, pretend that this whole thing with us never happened, that you’d never been with us or slummed it or downsized your standards for us. He wanted you to be able to go on with the rest of your life, find some other, pampered, gelatinous blue-blood for you to marry and have proper society babies with and forget that we ever existed.”

 _That’s not possible_ , she wants to tell them, but doesn’t know if it would be welcome.

“So, the next day, at school, when you were trying so hard to talk to us, suffice to say, we were fucking confused,” Bucky says, flatly. “And frankly, we were too terrified of the consequences of the restraining order and whatever fucking game you were playing to breach it in any way, so we stayed away. You were playing hot and cold with us, as far as we were concerned, and we just… we didn’t know how to deal with it. And then, you kept trying to talk to us, and we kept turning you away, and for some reason, you didn’t seem to get the hint.”

Toni colours with shame.

“And then, you showed up at Steve’s apartment and you were banging on the door and you were crying, and we didn’t know what to do. We wanted to let you in, to confront you, but I was thinking of the bruises, the photos that Stane had showed us, the things that you’d apparently told your dad about us, and I just…” Bucky worries his teeth on his lower lip. “I just couldn’t do it; I didn’t know what game you were playing at, and I just… I was too scared that if I opened the door and saw you on the other side and you had tears in your fucking eyes, I wouldn’t be able to be strong.”

“So, I opened the door instead,” Steve says, firmly. “And you were standing out there, and you looked so small on the doorstep, and you were crying, and I wanted to bring you in. And like Bucky, I thought about those photographs, I thought about all the things that Howard had told the judge that we did to you, I thought about the restraining order, and I sent you away.”

“Because you believed I was just faking,” she says, dully. “Because you believed that I wasn’t telling you the truth all the times that I told you that I was in love with you. Because you believed I was just faking.”

Steve and Bucky look everywhere but at her.

“Graduation was almost there,” Bucky goes on, haltingly. “So, all we had to do was stay away from you for a couple of weeks, but the next day we went to school, they told us that you’d dropped out.”

“I went to MIT,” she tells them, absently. “Had enough of high school; it wasn’t like I was actually learning anything there anyway, and I just had a couple more theses to finish up and then, I’d have my five PhDs.”

“We thought you’d dropped out because you were done playing your games with us, done slumming it, and you’d moved on to bigger and better things,” Bucky says, quietly.

“I dropped out because the idea of having to see you the next day after I misjudged things so badly, been made out to be an idiot by the two of you for even thinking that you might love me or even _like_ me beyond a convenient wet cunt for you to use, and had my heart broken thoroughly, well, let’s just say I threw up more than once that night,” she says, coldly, making them flinch. “So, I went to Howard and I told him that I was done with high school and that I was moving to Cambridge permanently to finish up the rest of my doctorates, and he made the arrangements.”

“We never heard from you again,” Steve tells her, softly. “We just figured… it was a chapter in your life and in our lives that was over.”

Toni pinches the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t know any of this,” she grinds out. “I didn’t… I didn’t tell my father about you or Obie. I don’t know how either of them found out to be able to come to your place and fucking threaten you, and I don’t…”

She covers her face with her hands.

“How is it that all of this happened without me knowing any of it?” she asks to no-one in particular. “Am I really that fucking oblivious to the world around me? And Obie, why would he have… I mean, I know _why_ he would have… if what you’re saying actually had happened-”

“We’re not fucking lying to you about this, Toni,” Steve says, hotly.

“That’s not what I meant,” she says, dismissively. “I meant… had I actually gone to my father and told him all of that shit, he wouldn’t have come himself. He never liked to do his own dirty work; no, that was always Obie’s job, so I can see why he was the one to come and see you. He’s good at that, you know, making the deals, talking to people, persuading them. It makes sense why he was the one to come. Howard would’ve just gotten pissed and said something to screw himself over. He wasn’t exactly a people’s person, my dad. So, yeah, it makes sense that it was Obie who did. But I never told my father or Obie anything.”

She looks up at them, pleadingly.

“I never told them anything about us. They didn’t… as far as I was aware, until this very moment, guys, I didn’t even know they knew about us. I didn’t think they were paying attention. The only people that I told about the three of us was… was Rhodey and Jarvis, and they wouldn’t have said anything to either Howard or Obie… so, how…?”

“You, uh, you never said anything to them?” Steve clarifies.

“Never,” Toni says, with a passion bordering on madness.

“So, you never told them that we hurt you, that we were using you, that we were…” Steve’s throat flexes, painfully, his eyes streaked with tears. “That we were making you do things that you didn’t want to do. You never told them that we hurt you?”

“I never told them that you hurt me,” Toni insists, reaching out and tangling both of her hands with theirs. “And if, at any point during all of this shit, someone would have come to me, I would have clarified everything. I would’ve told everyone that you were good people, that you were kind to me, that you… you-”

“That we loved you,” Bucky says, firmly. “You can say it, because it’s true.”

Emotion wells up inside her like a bruise, and she nods.

Loved, as in past tense – she doesn’t comment on that, wisely.

“And we didn’t… I mean, we never, at any stage, did anything you didn’t like, hurt you?” Steve asks, his hand trembling around hers.

“Never,” Toni whispers. “Never, you two would never have-”

Steve raises their tangled hands to his mouth and presses a kiss to her knuckles – God, how long must have this ruined him, how long must he have dwelled on this very thought, reconsidered every moment of their relationship, trying to find the instants where he’d overstepped, done something that she didn’t like, stood back and let her get hurt?

Beside him, Bucky is shaking too, his eyes puffy with tears, and she reaches out, touching his face, drying his eyes, and he leans into it, the cradle of her hand around his face.

She pulls back, sniffling slightly.

“I never told anyone anything about you two or that you’d hurt me or done anything bad to me at all,” she says, firmly, just for their sakes. “I don’t know where Obie got that information, why my father thought I was in some fucking trouble. The photos, Obie must have gotten from my father, because I sure as hell didn’t give them to him. But, I swear, the whole time, I thought my father didn’t know anything about you two. I didn’t even realise all of this was happening behind the scenes.”

She has the sudden urge to bring Howard Stark back to life just so that she can throttle him herself for everything that he’s done, all the lives he’s ruined.

“I didn’t even… know about the restraining order. How did he even manage to get it done by a judge without me being there,” Toni asks no one in particular.

“If I remember correctly, your father said that you were under eighteen, so he was able to make the decisions on your behalf, and he told the judge that you were too, uh, too distressed by what had happened to make a court appearance to tell the judge all over again everything that we’d done to you. The judge was very sympathetic,” Steve tells her.

“That’s not fucking fair,” she snarls. “This was a restraining order that involved me, and what, no one double-checks with _me_ whether I wanted one in the first place.”

“I think if you’d disagreed with it, Howard might have just claimed that we’d gaslit you and messed with your head so much that you didn’t know what healthy behaviour in a relationship was anymore,” Bucky says, quietly.

Toni drags her hand over her face. “Yeah, that sounds like Howard,” she says, wearily. “I suppose that it’s good that he didn’t go with having someone to break your legs or something. Small mercies, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Bucky huffs.

“And that’s why you didn’t come near me,” Toni says, slowly. “Because of the restraining order.”

“The judge was pretty clear,” Steve says, his voice strained, as he worries his teeth on his lower lip. “If we came anywhere near us, he’d have us in handcuffs so fast that our heads would spin. And Howard seemed super keen on enforcing it no matter what.”

“I wish…” she closes her eyes. “I wish I’d known what was going on. I wish… I might have been able to stop it.” She shakes her head. “So, what happened next? Did Howard leave you alone after that?”

Steve nods. “The next day, we found out that you’d dropped out, gone to MIT full-time, and we just figured that your… time with us was over. Howard never bothered us after that. We never saw him or Stane ever again, and we thought that maybe he was fine with everything once you were away from us. Out of sight, out of mind, you know.”

“I’m glad he didn’t,” Toni bites her lip. “I’m glad he didn’t go any further. He… he could be a real sadistic bastard when he wanted to be. You didn’t have, you know, any problems with… with work or-”

Bucky shrugs. “The army didn’t care,” he says, simply.

“And the mob, we’re all family here,” Steve reassures her. “They didn’t care either. Half of them don’t know anything anyway. The only ones who know what happened is Natasha and Sam, and that’s only ‘cause Natasha was there through it all, and Sam…” he hesitates for an agonising moment. “Well, let’s just say, one night, when Bucky was overseas, I got drunk and spilled the beans to Sam. So, yeah, they know, but they’re the only ones.”

“Which really puts into perspective how pissed Natasha was when she saw me,” Toni muses.

Bucky shakes his head, looking as though he’d aged at least a decade in the timeframe of this one conversation. “Whatever she said, she shouldn’t have-”

“She’s your cousin,” Toni reminds him. “She’s your family, she _loves_ you. God, when she saw me, it must have been like _this bitch_. I am _this bitch_ to you, aren’t I? At least as far as she’s concerned, I’m the bitch who almost ruined your life, who lied to you and lied about you and said awful things to you and took you to fucking court. If I was really that person, I could’ve ruined your life. I could’ve fucked it up, royally. I know, because I’ve seen it happen. I’ve seen…” she trails off. “It happens, you know, in my circle, this sort of shit. The rich girl who wants to get back at her Daddy Dearest for not paying enough attention to her, so she goes and finds some biker guy with arms full of tattoos and a giant beard and a leather jacket who slurs his words and puts his feet on the antique coffee table in the hopes that she’ll give Daddy a stroke, because she’s decided that even bad attention is good attention from her father. And then, once she has Daddy’s attention, she cuts the biker loose, or she decides to keep him hanging on and she toys with him slowly and slowly until something really fucked-up happens like a murder-suicide or they drive off a cliff together.”

“You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?” Bucky says, looking slightly ill.

Toni shrugs. “The life of the rich and famous isn’t all glitz and glamour; sometimes, it’s drug addiction and co-dependent, borderline sociopathic relationships,” she tells him. “So, yeah, I can imagine that when Natasha saw me again, she thought that I was here to use you again, to torture you, to do something awful and drag you both down with me, and she wanted to spare you that, spare you all the pain and misery me and mine have caused you. I can’t blame her for that.”

“She got angry at Peter,” Steve reminds her.

Toni pauses. “Yeah, okay, I can blame her for that,” she agrees. “But still, I understand what she must have felt.”

Bucky sighs. “Clearly, it’s not as black and white as we all thought it was,” he points out. “Toni, you didn’t know anything about this, about what your dad and Stane had done.”

Toni’s heart flutters in her ears. “And you believe me?” she asks, almost half-wild in her efforts. “You believe me when I say that I didn’t-didn’t know anything about what was going on?”

Bucky looks at her, all soft and unmoving. “Yeah, Toni, we believe you.”

She looks at Steve. “You believe me?” she asks, reaching out to clutch at his sleeve.

Steve’s hand covers her. “Yeah, honey, we believe you.”

Toni clears her throat, an uneasy smile painting her lips. “I’m glad,” she says, with an unsure tongue.

She drags her hand over her face.

“What I was saying is that you didn’t know, and you had your own shit to deal with it.”

Toni shakes her head. “Not like what you two were going through-”

“You thought we didn’t want you anymore,” Bucky says, quietly.

Toni flinches, her face twisting up.

“You thought we never wanted you,” Bucky goes on. “You thought our entire relationship was a lie. Don’t deny it,” he says, when she opens her mouth to protest. “You were pretty clear about that before. I can’t… I mean, we were going through our own shit at the time, sure, but I can’t imagine what it was like for you, feeling that, thinking that.”

“Yeah, well, let’s just say that it wasn’t fun,” she says, quietly.

Steve squeezes her knee.

“Why did you help me?” she asks, suddenly.

Steve frowns up at her. “Huh?”

“If you thought I’d done all of those things, lied about you and-and taken you to court and everything, why did you help me?” she looks at them with tears edging her eyes. “You could’ve… you could’ve let me rot, thought it… just or whatever. You should’ve thought I fucking deserved it, deserved someone coming after me like that. Why did you help me? Why did you give a shit?”

“You think we’d just let you die?” Steve asks, incredulously.

Toni shrugs, lamely.

“What the _fuck_ , Toni?” Steve asks, impatience bleeding into his voice. He climbs to his feet, sleek as a gazelle. “Why would you think that? Why would you think that, even after everything, that we wouldn’t jump at the chance of saving you-”

“Because it’s dumb,” Toni snaps. “I hurt you, I fucking ruined your lives-”

“I thought we established that it wasn’t you,” Bucky interjects.

“ _Still_ ,” she stresses. “As far as you were concerned, I was either a silent party in all of it or I was the fucking mastermind; why would you give a shit whether some sour douchebag wanted to kill me or not?”

“Because we love you, you dumb bitch,” Steve snaps.

It’s like time pauses for her, slowing and stretching so that she can breathe.

“What?” she says, dazed.

“It’s because we love you,” Steve repeats, his voice soft and unmoving.

“Love, as in-”

“Yeah, present tense,” Steve agrees.

“But why?” Toni asks, confused.

“That’s a fucking stupid question,” Bucky snorts.

Toni looks at him in surprise. “You too?”

“He said _we_ ,” Bucky points out.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean-”

“Toni, believe me when I say that we love you,” Bucky says, honestly. “We haven’t stopped, even after everything, even after we believed that you did and said all of those things, we didn’t stop.”

“That’s so fucking dumb,” Toni declares.

“Yeah,” Steve huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, it probably is.”

“How could you still love me?” Toni asks. “How could you, after everything? It doesn’t make any sense. I hurt you, I betrayed you, I mean, you’d have been well within your rights to not spit on me if I were on fire-”

Steve shrugs. “I guess it’s more complicated than that. Even if we wanted to be angry at you, we couldn’t stay angry at you,” he tells her.

“And believe me, we wanted to be angry at you.”

“Maybe it’s another case of loving the thing that’s bad for you,” Toni muses. “I know that pretty well.” She shakes her head. “You shouldn’t have. You should have put me out of your head the minute that you realised that I’d done that. You shouldn’t have spared me a second thought.”

“Yeah, well, guess it’s a little too late for that,” Bucky points out. “And I guess the only question is whether you still love us?”

 _Oh, shit_.

She should’ve realised that question would come up sooner rather than later, considering the direction that the conversation was heading towards.

The two of them look at her, measured and grave, waiting, and Toni’s face thins in response.

“It’s hard for me to say,” she says, her voice not above a whisper. “I… I didn’t stop thinking about you. I thought about you a lot. But… things got complicated, you know, with Ty and Peter, and… I put you out of my head for so long, because I had to and I didn’t have any other choice, and then you came back, you were just there and it was like I never stopped being that seventeen year old girl.”

“So, what does that mean?”

Toni takes a deep breath. She smiles, her mouth turning down at the corners. “I don’t know if I’m capable of not loving the two of you,” she says, sincerely, rubbing her hands over her face.

Steve’s face shines with hope. “Yeah?” he says.

“Yeah.”

Bucky makes a noise and covers his face with his hand. “This is a good thing, right?” he says, when he lifts his head, his voice rough with sorrow, as he gives her a loaded look. “We can, uh, we fixed things, right? We fixed our shit. The misunderstandings are all cleared. We can, uh, we can start over, try again, be together?”

Steve remains quiet.

Strange, how the roles seemed to be reversed between the two of them this time around – after they’d had sex, it had been Steve who seemed hopeful at their ability to fix everything and recover what they’d lost, but maybe she’d been so harsh the first time around that he’d become pessimistic about their chances.

Toni’s heart pounds in her chest, and she remains silent.

Bucky’s face changes when he notes her hesitation. “Toni?” he says, with an unsure tongue.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” she says, honestly, almost gently.

Bucky’s mouth twists, ugly and wretched. “Why-” he clears his throat. “Why not? We… we cleared the air, right? We told each other the truth; we’ve been honest. Why can’t we start again? Fuck, Toni, we’ve missed you. Didn’t we, Stevie? Didn’t we miss her?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, his face heavy with worry. “Yeah, we missed you.”

“This isn’t… I mean, we’re not kids anymore,” she reminds them, her voice thin. “We’re not… we’re not seventeen anymore. It’s not like we can just… go back, pretend like none of this happened, pretend like time never moved and we’re still the same people we were back in high school. That’s not… that’s not how life works, guys, and you know that. That’s not how time works.”

“Why can’t it be?” Bucky argues.

“We aren’t the same people anymore,” Toni tells him, softly. “We’ve changed. We’re not seventeen anymore. Can you honestly pretend like the intervening years haven’t changed you, Bucky? Because they have changed me. I’m not seventeen anymore. I can’t be. We’ve changed, we’ve all changed, and we can’t just slip back into who we used to be.”

“No one’s saying that we have to slip back into who we used to be; all I’m saying is that we could give it a try, see how we go; we worked before, and I know that we could work again,” Bucky says, earnestly.

“We didn’t work before,” Toni says, honestly.

“Don’t be stupid; of course we did-”

“No, we really didn’t,” Toni tells him. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t have broken up.”

Bucky shakes his head. “There were other people in our relationship. They ruined us. They’re not part of it anymore, which means we won’t have any problems-”

“Howard ruined us,” Toni agrees. “But he didn’t end us, Bucky. We did that. The three of us, we ended our relationship, and I don’t think it’s fair to blame anyone else for that.”

“Oh, so, what, you’re fucking defending him now?” Bucky demands.

“No, I’m saying that I have never held anyone else responsible for the choices that I make, and I have never wanted anyone to deal with the consequences either, so I’d be a real fucking hypocrite if I decided that I was just an innocent victim in all of this and Howard had controlled every single one of my actions, right?”

“You were an innocent victim,” Steve says, quietly.

“None of us were,” Toni corrects, sternly. “Come on, yeah, Howard fucked us over. He played all of us, and we fell for it, but we ended things on our terms, guys. Our relationship didn’t work, because if it had, even with Howard’s games and plays behind the scenes, we wouldn’t have broken up.”

“I don’t believe that,” Bucky says, stubbornly.

“When Obie came to you and he told you all of these things that I’d apparently said, showed you the photos, why did you believe him?” Toni asks, bluntly.

Bucky flounders for words.

“You believed him; you could have just as easily told him to go fuck himself, because you knew, knew in your bones, that I would never have said anything like that about the two of you to anyone, least of all Howard,” Toni points out. “But you didn’t. You believed what he was saying about me, immediately. Did you even second-guess it at all?”

Judging by their uncomfortable silence, Toni decides that they didn’t – that shouldn’t sting as much as it does.

“Okay, fine, you didn’t second-guess it in that moment; you didn’t tell Obie and Howard to go and take a hike. After Obie finished talking to you, and he left, why didn’t you come and talk to me directly, tell me what Obie had told you, lay the accusation at my feet? Why didn’t you come to me directly?” Toni asks, curiously.

“The restraining order-”

“The restraining order was signed later,” Toni points out. “I do understand why you didn’t come to me after that, even if I wish you had just fucking broken it to talk to me, but why didn’t you come to me before you went to court?”

They don’t answer her.

“It was because you believed Obie,” Toni says, sadly. “It’s because you believed that I was capable of saying all those awful things about you, because you thought I would make up lies about you and go running to my asshole father for him to take care of everything. It’s because you didn’t think I actually loved you; it’s because you thought I might have actually felt that way about the two of you, despite everything I’d told you to your faces. You didn’t trust that I loved the two of you, did you?” She rubs the back of her neck. “You know, before, you mentioned how Howard wanted the story to go once it was all over, but I’m starting to think it was how you saw things, how you two saw our relationship. Did you… I mean, did you think that I was just some rich slut spreading it for the vermin?” she asks, curiously and just a little bit hurt that they would think so less of her.

“What, no,” Bucky protests.

“But you thought I wasn’t serious about you,” Toni pushes. “You thought I just wanted a novelty experience or something, the chance to brag to all my friends down at the fucking social club or whatever that I was fucking two poor guys? That I was just slumming it to seem like the unconventional rich kid? Look at me, I fucked below my station? Did you think that once high school finished or whatever that I’d just break up with you, go back to my perfect, untouched, rich girl existence, forget that I’d ever met you, ever wanted you, ever been with you, and get married to some guy exactly like my father but probably twice as arrogant with nothing to show for it? Have a bunch of kids with him and pretend like it was just some lowbrow kink I had when I was young and too stupid to know any better?”

“No, Toni,” Bucky tries to argue.

“Don’t lie to me, it’s okay if you did,” Toni says, patiently. “You didn’t trust my feelings for you. You didn’t trust that I actually loved you as much as I said I did or as much as you did me. And it’s not just you. Don’t think I’m trying to blame you two solely for the end of our relationship or anything. I played my own part in it. I immediately believed that you didn’t care about me at all. I thought you were fucking with me. Like you guys thought I was chasing after a novelty, I thought you were looking for something to brag about with your friends, the chance to get Antonia Stark on her back and begging for your dicks. I didn’t think you were serious about me at all. I didn’t think I was capable of being loved by you two, not when you were so good, so kind, and you already had each other, so I… I thought it was just something you wanted as a temporary thing, a fling more than anything. I had my own insecurities that were more powerful than logic and reason, and I lost you and I lost Natasha, the way that you lost me. _That’s_ why we split up, not because of Howard, even if he was just the flame to the dynamite, but because we didn’t trust each other enough to talk to each other about it, about what was going on. We could’ve fixed it between us back then, but we didn’t. We couldn’t, because we didn’t work back then, and I don’t know if we can work now.”


	15. xv.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: low self-esteem, accusations of child sexual abuse, implied/referenced domestic violence.

“But we know that stuff now,” Bucky says, his voice grating and harsh. “We know all the things we did wrong; we can build off that, make it better!”

“Can we?” Toni asks, lifting an eyebrow. “I’d think we’d probably need years of therapy before we made it to a secure enough place to actually have a healthy, adult relationship.”

“So, let’s go to therapy,” Steve offers. “We’ll go to therapy, all of us. We’ll go!”

“You’re mob bosses, and you want to go to therapy?” Toni asks, sceptically.

“If it means that we get to keep you,” Steve shakes his head. “I’d be willing to do anything. _We_ would, wouldn’t we, Buck?”

“Yeah, for you, we would,” Bucky insists. “Let’s go, all three of us. We’ll go to therapy and we’ll fix it. Let’s fix it.”

His voice deteriorates into pleading, and Toni blinks away tears.

“It’s not that simple,” she says, vaguely.

“Why? Why the fuck not?” Bucky demands.

“We aren’t kids anymore!” Toni shouts at him. “How is this supposed to work? You’re mob bosses. You live in the fucking shadows, right? They don’t even know your names out there, but you reign like kings. What happens if we do this, if we get back together? I can’t live in the shadows, guys. Antonia Stark cannot live in the shadows. And I wouldn’t ask for you to live in the light with me as much as you wouldn’t ask to live in the shadows with you. We have to be practical about this. How would it even work?”

“Isn’t that what therapy’s for?” Bucky asks, desperately. “For us to figure out a way to make it work?”

“I have a son,” Toni says, bluntly.

Bucky and Steve fall silent.

“I don’t have the luxury of doing casual things,” she tells them, mournfully. “He’s my first priority; he has to come first for me all the fucking time. And I can’t start anything with you knowing that it might end in flames for all of us. I can’t have you near him knowing that this might not end well. He deserves better than that. He deserves better than to grow up with his mother having a revolving door of people in her life. He deserves better than to get attached to people who might not stay. I have to protect him from that. I have to protect from the world, and I can’t… no, _I won’t_ set him up to get hurt. I won’t do that. I won’t.”

“We wouldn’t hurt him,” Steve says, quietly.

“Are you prepared to be a father to him?” Toni demands. “Are you ready for that?”

Bucky and Steve blink slowly, but their hesitation speaks volumes.

“Then, I can’t have anything with you. I just… I can’t. I can’t do that to Peter. I won’t,” she says, in a breathless, pained voice, reassuring herself, promising herself that she’s making the right decision, putting them aside for her son.

It’s like a knife twisting her gut, the pain spreading from her gut down to her toes and up to her throbbing temples, but it’s the right decision.

It will always be the right decision, putting Peter above everyone else.

She became a murderer for Peter’s sake; this should be nothing compared to that.

However, somehow, it’s worse.

“I’ll get rid of the restraining order,” she blurts out.

Bucky and Steve look at her in surprise, their grief at her so irrevocably shutting any possibility of _them_ bleeding out of their faces as they process what she just said.

“I mean, it’s total bullshit anyway,” she huffs. “And when I get my hands on that fucking judge who decided that a bunch of men should decide what was good for a seventeen-year-old girl without her even being in the fucking room, oh, God, he’s going to rue the fucking day. I am going to _ruin_ his fucking life,” she says with great relish.

Bucky lifts an eyebrow. “Did you just say _rue the fucking day_?”

“Yeah, I just said _rue the fucking day_ ,” Toni says, defensively.

Bucky laughs, softly. “Doll, you don’t have to get rid of the restraining order.”

Toni frowns. “You do understand how the restraining order works, right? With an active restraining order, technically, you’re breaking the law by being anywhere around me.”

“We’ve been breaking the law this whole time,” Steve points out. “And honey, it really doesn’t matter.”

“It’s not a joke restraining order! That shit will put you in jail.”

“It doesn’t matter because Stevie and I rarely go out in public, doll. We don’t exactly work in the light anymore. And frankly, we do so much criminal shit that a breach of a restraining order isn’t really the big fry anymore.”

“You’d be surprised. It’s often the small thing that catches someone out,” she says, pointedly. “And frankly, if Obie saw me near you, he’d recognise you and he’d probably be the first person going to the police with this shit.”

“Well, I suppose it’s a good thing that you’re not going anywhere near Stane again,” Steve says, slowly.

Toni blinks at him for a moment, and then, realisation dawns. “Oh, please, not this again,” she says, climbing to her feet. “Obie is not trying to kill me. That’s just laughable.”

“I would say everything that we’ve just talked about proves that Stane is completely capable of trying to kill you,” Bucky says, flatly.

“No, it doesn’t,” Toni protests. “How does it prove that in any way?”

“Toni, he was heavily involved in sabotaging our relationship,” Steve tells her, carefully, as if she hadn’t been listening for the past hour.

Toni shakes her head. “He was only doing it on Howard’s instructions; he was always doing Howard’s dirty work because my father was too much of a fucking coward to do it himself. He wasn’t…” she trails off. “That doesn’t mean he’s a bad guy. He just-”

“Toni, he had free will. If he really objected to what your father was doing, he could have said so,” Bucky points out.

“Not if he didn’t want to get fired,” Toni retorts. “He… he would never have done that to me, any of it, if he didn’t believe he was acting in my best interests. Obie, he loves me, he loves me a lot. He’s like another father to me. He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t do that to me; he wasn’t doing it to hurt me; he was just… he must have thought I was stuck in a bad situation, and he was trying to protect or-or-”

“You know, I don’t know if it’s funny or it just says a lot about your upbringing, but you seem more willing to believe that your father had nefarious motives than Stane who came to us with all of this shit in the first place,” Steve tells her, coldly. “You know, we didn’t even meet your father until the hearing.”

“Because between the two, Obie has been more of a father to me than Howard ever was,” Toni replies in the exact same tone. “He has always been there for me. When I was a kid, he actually paid attention to me, you know. He used to play with me. He used to throw me in the air and catch me, the simple things that most kids take for granted when you have good, loving parents. He used to play the monster game with me. He _encouraged_ me; he didn’t see the five-year-old as a fucking threat, the way that Howard did,” she spits. “He was there for me after everything, you know, after what I thought had happened with the two of you, and yeah, I know that he clearly knew a lot more than I originally thought, but it doesn’t…”

Tears drip down her face in a steady line.

“It doesn’t diminish what he’s done for me,” she says, coldly. “It doesn’t, it can’t. I can’t have it diminish what he’s done for me. He… when my parents died, he was right there, you know, helping me with everything, with the arrangements and Stark Industries, and-and, when I married Ty, he was front and centre, and when Peter was born, he showed up at the hospital, and for fuck’s sake, Peter calls him Uncle Obie. He… he’s been there for me.”

“How is it, after everything, after you know everything now, that you can still believe him above everyone else?” Bucky asks, almost curiously, if his face didn’t have that sickly flush to it. “What _hold_ does he have on you, Toni? What did he…” his face hardens, “Did he do something to you?”

“What?” Toni asks, confused.

“Did he… did he hurt you or touch you or-”

“What? Are you… are you fucking insane?” Toni demands.

“I’m just concerned-”

“Are you really trying to suggest that Obadiah Stane _molested_ me as a child? Is that what you’re getting at?” Toni asks, incredulously.

“You are very protective of him,” Bucky grinds out. “You are incapable of believing the worst of him. I think, even if I showed you incontrovertible proof that he wanted you dead, you wouldn’t believe it, and I want to know where that comes from. If it’s just because of your daddy issues or if it’s because the guy has emotionally manipulated you so fucking much that you can’t stand to think the worst of him.”

“That doesn’t mean he molested me, you fucking moron,” Toni hisses.

“Fine, but that doesn’t mean that he hasn’t spent your entire life grooming you to stand here and defend him against all odds,” Bucky tells her.

Toni’s lower lip quivers. “You want to know why I can’t possibly bear to believe that Obie is behind all of this, that he deliberately sabotaged what happened between the three of us, that he’s trying to get rid of me now so that he can take over what I built, what I made, for his own, that he wants to use my son and _hurt_ him? You really want to know why?”

“Yes,” Bucky says, firmly.

“Because it means it is very hard to love me,” she says, coldly. “It means that I am not someone who is loved well. My father… he thought I was a perpetual disappointment, and when he didn’t, he thought I was too uppity, too arrogant, too _good_ for his tastes. He hated the idea of me being better than him, and so, because of that, he couldn’t be a father to me. He couldn’t love me and resent at the same time. My mother, she tried, but… my father was too strong for her. She loved me when I was young, but then, she found the pills and the wine, and she stopped being my mother. She was a shadow instead, and when she did speak, she slurred or she said things that didn’t make sense, and maybe, she was even a little afraid of me, because despite everyone’s best efforts, maybe I am my father’s daughter in the end. Jarvis loved me. He loved me like I was his own, and I loved him too, and then, he died and left me alone and he took a part of me with him, but you think I ever forgot that he was paid? You think I ever forgot that he could walk away from me at any stage? Rhodey loves me too, but he’s never there. Pepper loves me, but I pay her. And Ty… Ty would have killed me; that’s the kind of love he felt for me. And then, there’s Peter. How long before I disappoint him? How long before he starts dodging my calls and telling his friends that his mother is dead rather than acknowledge my existence? So, yeah, that’s why I don’t know if I’ll survive if what you’re saying is true, if Obie really is the villain in my story. And I always survive. I’m _fine_. I’m fine. I survived Ty, and I survived you two, and _I’m fine_. I don't need you. I _never_ needed you.”

The tears are hot against her skin.

“Because it means that it is very hard to love me, and that’s a really shitty thing for someone to come to terms with. I don’t know if I can do that, if I’m brave and strong enough to do that. So, yeah, I can’t believe that Obie is behind this, that he’s been fooling me this whole time, that he never loved me, that he wants me dead. I can’t take that. I don’t want to believe it. That’s the hold he has on me, if that’s how you want to put it.”

“That’s bullshit,” Steve says, suddenly.

She turns to him.

“What the fuck do you mean by it being really hard to love you?” Steve demands. “Where did you get that idea?”

Toni stretches out her arms. “Life.”

“It’s bullshit,” Steve says, fiercely. “Fuck your parents, Toni, they were awful, and they didn’t fucking deserve you. Jarvis loved you, I know that, we know that, you know that. Rhodey? Rhodey loves you. If he were here today, would he be pissed at you for second-guessing him for a second?”

Toni chews on her lower lip. “I suppose,” she says, grudgingly.

“If he were here, he’d try and kill us both,” Steve reminds her. “Because of what he thinks we did to you. That’s how much he loves you. We’ve seen it. We don’t know this Pepper, but if you think she doesn’t love you because you pay her… no offence, honey, but if she really didn’t want to work for you, she’d have told you that a long time ago. No job is worth that shit, even if you probably pay her a six-figure salary. Stone was a sadistic, piss-poor bastard, and I’m glad he’s dead. I’m glad _you_ killed him. If you hadn’t, I would’ve,” he says, so venomously, so hatefully. “And Peter? For fuck’s sake, Toni, that boy thinks the world of you. He thinks you fucking move the sun and stars; that’s how much he loves you. He’s always going to love you. That’s not going to change, not for anything. You are not your father, and he is not you. He’s never going to not be there in your life. You’re doing him a disservice by just fucking expecting him to abandon you one day. You’re a damn good mother, Stark.”

“Besides, you forgot something,” Bucky says, haltingly.

Toni looks at him.

“We love you,” Bucky says, flatly. “We’ve loved you since we were fifteen, for fuck’s sake. Even when we thought you hated us, even when we thought you’d lied to us and made shit up about us and lied about how we used to hit you and you never wanted to see us again, we still loved you. Who the fuck said that it’s hard to love you? _We love you_. Even when we shouldn’t have, we loved you, Toni. You are not hard to love at all; in fact, you are very easy to love.”

Toni takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“It’s not Obie. It can’t be,” she says, simply, and leaves the room.

* * *

Toni goes to Natasha.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice soft and unmoving.

Natasha turns around, slowly, so slow that Toni fears something may have crashed in her head.

“Excuse me?” Natasha says, quirking her eyebrow.

Toni exhales. “I didn’t know what my father and Obie had done,” she says, carefully.

Natasha narrows her eyes. “What?” she asks, sharply.

“I didn’t know that Obie had come to Steve’s place to talk to him and Bucky. I didn’t know about the photos. I didn’t tell my father _anything_ about our relationship, Natasha.”

Natasha folds her arms over her chest. “Then, why would Stane have come to see them?” he demands.

Toni shakes her head. “I don’t know. Maybe… maybe my father was having me followed, but I never told him about Steve or Bucky, the fact that we were in a relationship or anything else about it. The only people I told were Jarvis and Rhodey, and they wouldn’t have said anything to him. Those photos… the photos that Stane showed them, I think they were photos that I took a year or two before I met you guys-”

Natasha flounders, her hands dropping to her side. “You mean those photos were real?” she asks, her voice uncomfortable and displeased.

That results in a little shiver of pleasure curling in her chest – despite their problems, and all the lies and betrayals and abandonment, there is something to be said that Natasha never wanted those injuries that she probably saw in those photos to be real.

“Yeah, uh, my husband… before he was my husband, back when he was just my boyfriend, it was before I came to your high school, he and I… he was…” Toni trails off, an uneasy smile painting her smile. “Yeah, those bruises were from him. And I took photos, just in case I’d ever have to use them for leverage against him, but I guess they ended up being used against me in a much more terrible way.”

“I can’t believe those photos were real,” she says, vaguely, dazed. “How is that… but you _married_ him, even after you took those photos? Did he… did he change or-”

“No,” she replies, heavily, with meaning. “He did not change.”

Natasha drags her hand over her face. “Fuck,” she says, resoundingly. “ _Fuck_ , Toni.”

She blows a breath out between her teeth. “Yeah.”

“Well, then, in that case,” Natasha runs her hand through her hair. “I’m glad he’s dead.”

“Yeah, so am I,” Toni replies. “But I just… I guess I wanted you to know that I didn’t know anything about what happened before. I didn’t… I didn’t know that Obie had come to you guys, I didn’t know about the photos; nothing he said, about Steve and Bucky hurting me or forcing me into things or plying me with drugs and shit, that wasn’t real. I never said any of that, and I don’t know where they, either of them got it from. I didn’t know about the restraining order either. I didn’t know my dad went to fucking court over this.”

Natasha chews on her lower lip. “Why… why would I believe you? Why… why is it not just possible that you told them all of that shit and got them to get rid of Steve and Bucky, got them to do your dirty work?”

“Why would I do that, Nat?” she asks, wearily, throwing her hands in the air.

“Because you’re a sociopath,” Natasha accuses.

“I wasn’t at the hearing for the restraining order,” Toni says, bluntly. “Don’t you think that’s a little strange?”

Natasha shakes her head. “Bucky told me that your father told the judge that you didn’t want to rehash everything that they’d put you through,” she says, her voice leaning towards disgust. “So, he allowed for the matter to be decided without you.”

Toni scowls. “In what universe does someone make a restraining order about someone and not actually hear from that person?”

“America,” Natasha retorts, expertly.

Toni pauses. “Fair enough,” she admits, grudgingly. “But I’m telling you, I didn’t know about it, about any of it. Had I known, things would’ve ended very differently.”

Natasha’s face is almost thin with longing, as if she’d give anything to believe what Toni is saying, but there’s just something holding her back.

“How could they have done any of this without you knowing it?” Natasha asks, stubbornly. “I mean, he was your father, for fuck’s sake.”

“I never told you much about my relationship with my father, did I?” Toni says, slowly.

Natasha shrugs. “It never came up,” she agrees.

“My father and I didn’t get along, to say the least,” Toni says, carefully. “You know, uh, sometimes, I think he didn’t want to be a father, that he just agreed to the whole thing, didn’t ask my mother to get an abortion, because it was what society expected of him. Like there was this checklist of things you’re supposed to do in life: go to university, get a job, get married, have children, save money, you know. He got married, and I suppose, everyone was just waiting for him to have a kid. My mother struggled with her pregnancies. I was her only living and healthy child. She had a bunch of stillbirths and miscarriages.”

“I’m sorry,” Natasha offers.

“It’s fine. So, yeah, they were disappointed a lot. And so by the end of it, my parents only had me. My father was constantly busy with Stark Industries, and my mother… well, she tried her best, but my father’s neglect and borderline emotional abuse towards her started to get to her, so she devolved into bottles of wine and antidepressants,” Toni explains. “When I was four, I made a circuit board from scratch. The newspapers were there, and we were the perfect family for them, you know, and I was named a genius. To the world, my father was incredibly proud of me; he couldn’t be any prouder. That was a lie. I don’t think he ever forgave me for the circuit board.”

“You were just four,” Natasha says, sceptically.

“Yeah, you clearly never met my father. If there was ever anyone capable of resenting a four-year-old, that was my father,” Toni says, dryly. “And it only got worse. At six, it was the car engine; at seven, it was the gun, and at eight, it was the bomb. And my father had to confront the awful possibility that his infant daughter was actually smarter than him, and like every man that has come before him and after him, God, the temerity of _me_ , the half-Indian girl, doing what he does, but _better_ , he couldn’t deal with it. So, instead of dealing with his own shit, he decided to take it out on me.”

Natasha shifts, awkwardly. “Did he, I mean, did he hit you?” she asks, carefully.

“Sometimes,” Toni says, slowly. “He was a mean drunk, and all the alcohol did was exacerbate his pre-existing resentment and insecurities, so if I was near him at the time, and I said something, and I almost always said something because I lacked impulse control and I really fucking hated trying to make him feel better about his problems, and when I did say something, he hit me. And then, the next day, he was sober, and he regretted it, so he bought me jewellery. So did Ty, actually. I have a box full of their apology pieces; it’s fun,” she mutters under his breath. “But yeah, my dad and I fought a lot; we didn’t agree on anything. We didn’t like each other, and when he died, a part of me just felt… relieved, as fucked up as it sounds. So, yeah, it makes sense that I didn’t know what he was doing behind the scenes with Steve and Bucky. Even if… he’d never have told me about it. I know that. I just hope… you believe me when I say that I didn’t know about it, and if I had, I’d have never let it happen.”

Natasha stares at her for a long, quiet moment, and it comes with the sensation of Toni’s skin crawling quietly.

“Fuck, Toni,” she says, finally, like she’s been holding a huge weight on her shoulders. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Toni says, lamely.

“And I said all of those really shitty things to you too-”

“You said them based on the information provided to you,” Toni says, quietly. “And to all of you, it looked like I knew what had happened, what my father did, what Obie did, and hell, I’d ever pushed for it, lit the fire for it. You were… right to be pissed with what you knew. And plus, I said a bunch of shitty things to you too.”

“We’re both bitches,” Natasha says, ruefully,

Toni’s smile quivers at the edges. “Well, that was always the best part of our friendship,” she points out.

Natasha’s smile is the same as hers. “Yeah, it was.” Her face falls. “God, if you didn’t know anything about what was going on, what you must have thought about us.”

Toni’s smile drops as well. “Yeah, it wasn’t fun.”

“So, you thought-”

“I thought they didn’t want me anymore,” Toni says, flatly. “I thought… maybe they’d never wanted me, that I was just… you know, a novelty, a bucket list item, good bragging rights. The rich bitch on her back. I thought maybe I’d… touched something I shouldn’t have touched. They’re soulmates, you know, and… I… was the odd one out, the third wheel that they sometimes had sex with, and maybe they’d realised that, they didn’t want the… uh, extra-ness of me, I suppose. Or maybe they’d just gotten over me; you know, the experience had overdone itself, and now… I had to be dumped. So, I was dumped. It was classic fuckboy plays as well, from my point of view, the ignoring of my calls and the avoiding me in hallways and the conspicuous disappearances from the cafeteria and when I finally came to Steve’s apartment that day, they didn’t even want to talk to me, and yeah, I knew it was done.”

“And me-”

“Well, you were my friend,” Toni says, simply, with a shrug of her shoulders. “You were one of my best friends. I loved you, and you abandoned me.”

Natasha flinches. “That’s… that’s not how it happened from my point of view,” she whispers. “To me, you were one of my best friends, and you… were just making fun of me the whole time.”

Toni’s eyes edge with tears. “I wouldn’t have done that,” she says, roughly.

“I wouldn’t have abandoned you,” Natasha tells her, her voice strained.

She’s the first to move forward, not Toni, and she wraps her arms around Toni’s, strong and sure, and Toni leans her chin on Natasha’s shoulder, clutching at her just as tight.

“We’re not old, thank God,” Natasha huffs against the hollow of her throat. “That means we can… we can be friends again, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, we can be friends again. I’ve missed you,” Toni murmurs.

A part of her is lying. Nothing will ever be the same between her and Natasha again, she knows this, and she thinks Natasha knows it as well.

Natasha clears her throat and pulls away, dragging her hands over her eyes. “And you and Steve and Bucky, you can fix things now, now that you all know what really happened all those years ago; you can fix things and you can be together, right? You’re going to be together again?” she asks, hopefully.

Toni takes a deep breath. “No,” she says, finally, gently.

Natasha’s lip sets between her teeth. “Why?” she demands. “I mean… there are no more secrets, and you all know the truth, and you’ve forgiven each other. Why not?”

“Because the problems are still there,” she says, honestly. “Because even though Howard tried to fuck us over, and there were so many misunderstandings, we still had problems, Nat. Those problems didn’t just disappear, and it would take… a fuckload of therapy to fix them.”

“So, get the therapy,” Natasha snaps.

“How, you people are in the mob, and I’m the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company. The second that those two step into my world, they’ll be arrested, and I can’t leave Stark Industries to step into your world. I can’t. It’s… despite my feelings towards my father, Stark Industries is _mine_ ; I fought for it, I bled for it. I want it. I want to be CEO, and it… it’s my legacy; it’s what I’m going to give Peter, if he wants it. And Peter…” she says, breathing deep, filling her lungs until there is no more space. “I can’t do casual things.”

“Nothing between the three of you could be casual,” Natasha argues.

“Yeah, but it might not end well,” Toni points out. “It might end in a gigantic ball of flames like the last time, but the difference is… Peter will be there, and he’s… he’s so young and he gets attached so easily, and if it ever came down to the day where Steve and Bucky would leave my life for good, and he loved them, really fucking loved them? I would survive it, but he might not, and I’m not a good mother if I open him up to that sort of pain.”

“Or it could end really fucking good, and Peter could have two fathers who love him very much,” Natasha points out.

“That wouldn’t be fair to them either,” Toni says, slowly. “They’re… I mean, we just cleared the air; I can’t expect them to be fathers to Peter just like that. It’s an unfair expectation on them, especially when we haven’t properly worked out our shit yet.”

“They’re already halfway to loving him, Toni,” Natasha says, quietly. “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen that.”

Toni closes her eyes – of course she’s seen it, doesn’t mean that she has to like it though.

“And no offence, baby girl, but you’re not doing anything that a thousand other single mothers in your situation haven’t done. Does it end badly sometimes? Sure. But the other sometimes? It ends really good. You three have history, good history and bad history, but there’s no reason to think that after you’ve worked out your shit, it won’t end good this time, for all of you, including Peter.”

“I already let him down once,” Toni says, absently.

Natasha purses her lips thin.

“With Ty… I… let him around someone who might have hurt him,” Toni says, shamefully.

“Did Ty hurt him?”

“No,” Toni whispers. “No, not… while he was alive, no, he didn’t.”

_I would’ve killed him with my bare hands if he had. I wouldn’t have settled for poison. I would’ve clawed his eyes out of his head and his heart out of his chest._

“But I was so afraid of it, you don’t know what that’s like. I… I would look at Ty, and he was actually good with Peter, you know, when he bothered, nothing like Howard was. He was good with him, and sometimes, he was good with me, and when he was bad with me, I couldn’t help but think that one day, one day, he was going to look at Peter the same way that he looked at me, and if that day came, he’d hurt him and I… I didn’t want to just be standing there. I didn’t want to allow it.”

“And then, he died,” Natasha says, gently. “He died, and now, he can’t ever hurt Peter.”

“I know that, I just… I can’t put him in a position where he might get hurt. I can’t do that to him; he deserves better from me, and while it could end well with me and Steve and Bucky, I can’t be sure, which means I can’t take the risk if it doesn’t. It’s not just me on the line anymore; Peter’s there too, and I won’t do anything that might result in him ending up hurt,” she says, firmly.

“You love your son, and that’s admirable. You’re willing to sacrifice your own happiness, so your son will be safe, and that’s even more admirable, but don’t you think that’ll just be a sad existence, Toni?” Natasha asks, softly. “Don’t you think you’ll want more in your life? A life of your own? You’re not fifty, for fuck’s sake. You’re in your twenties; your life can’t revolve around your son; don’t you deserve some happiness?”

“I have happiness; I have my son,” Toni points out.

“I meant happiness beyond being a mother,” Natasha retorts. “I know what you’re going to say, and I’m sure it fulfils you, fills up all of those empty spaces inside you, but… you know, one day, Peter is going to be a grown-up, and you’ll be all alone; is that really what you want from life? Don’t you deserve something for yourself?”

“Maybe I don’t,” Toni replies, simply, sadly.


	16. xvi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: explicit sexual content, dirty talk, discussion of PTSD, implied/referenced domestic violence, implied/referenced amputation.
> 
> Written for the "Dirty Talk" square of the Ladies of Marvel Bingo 2020.

Steve and Bucky are more careful around her, in the coming days, after they’d cleared the air and she had pretty vehemently shut them down for any hopes of a future reconciliation.

One day, she’s exploring through the safehouse, while Peter is taking a nap in the bedroom, when she comes across Bucky in a room with a punching bag, delivering forceful blows with his one remaining hand.

She leans against the doorframe, watching him for a moment, the flex of muscle in his arm, in the planes of his back, the strong, determined expression on his face, and then, she speaks.

“I want to make you an arm,” she calls out.

Bucky’s punches slow, and the bag comes to a stop. He turns around, his expression too curious, as if he’d resolved to kill any and all hope where she’s concerned.

“What are you talking about?” he asks her, heavily.

“I want to make you an arm,” she repeats.

“Why?” Bucky demands.

“Because I’ve been meaning to get into the prosthetics line for a while,” Toni tells him. “And… I have skill, Bucky. I can do it for you.”

Bucky looks down at his stump, a wealth of emotions passing across his face. “I’m not any less of a man without it,” he says, carefully.

“I never said you were,” Toni says, confidently. “I’ll only make you one if you want me to. I just wanted you to know that the offer was on the table.”

Bucky’s face twists up. “If this is some consolation prize because you don’t want to be with us-”

“It has nothing to do with that,” she tells him, sharply. “I was going to make this offer even before our conversation yesterday, Bucky. I just… things were already so contentious between us, I didn’t know how, but I want to do it. Do you want me to do it?”

“I… I don’t want you to put yourself out,” Bucky says, vaguely.

“You wouldn’t be putting me out,” she says, impatience bleeding into her voice. “Bucky, I make things that kill for a living. Most of my day is spent making the perfect bomb or the perfect gun, and I’m not an idiot. I know people use the things that I make to kill people, and I don’t… it’s a fucking ridiculous excuse, I know, but I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to change the system. Little known insider trade secret, I’ve been wanting to step into… other interests for Stark Industries for a while, away from the weapons’ business, you know, things like medical technology and prosthetics and home electronics, stuff that we already do, but maybe we should be doing more of. I… I had this plan when I was a kid, that when I become CEO of Stark Industries, I was going to change the world, I was going to make it a better place than the one that I was born into, and after Peter was born, that urge just grew. And I didn’t do anything about it; I didn’t do anything about it the way I should have. I want to start.”

“Why, all of a sudden? What changed?” Bucky asks, curiously.

Toni shrugs. “Because I realised what I was doing wasn’t actually working,” she says, bluntly. “For years, I convinced myself that I made guns and bombs and other things that blow shit up because I wanted our soldiers to have the best possible chance when they were out there and being attacked. And then, _you_.”

“Me?” Bucky gapes at her in disbelief.

“Like I said, I made guns and bombs and body armour and shit because I was trying to protect our boys, and clearly, I failed because you… you, well, you lost your arm,” Toni says, awkwardly.

Bucky’s face changes, and he stares down at his stump. “This isn’t your fault,” he says, gently.

Toni’s grin is ugly. “I can’t help but feel that it was,” she says. There’s a strange tightness in her chest. “I didn’t know, you know.”

Bucky looks at her, strangely.

“I knew you’d joined the army,” she tells him.

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, as if he’d never been expecting that.

“Yeah, I kept up… some track of you two. It was strange when I stopped hearing anything to do with you, but I forced myself to put it of my head, just because I was so scared of opening up that Pandora’s box,” she tells him, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I heard about you joining the army, and I didn’t hear you’d come back, especially about what happened to your arm. I… wish I’d known, and I guess, I just wanted you to know that if I had known, I would’ve been there.”

“Really?” Bucky asks, sceptically.

“Yeah, I’m not a fucking monster,” Toni snaps. “I used to, uh, I used to pray for you, you know?”

Bucky blinks at her, and his face changes into something unbearably soft. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says, embarrassed. “When I first knew that you’d both gone overseas, and whenever I went to temple, I’d always… I’d always do something in your names. It’s, uh, in my religion, it’s called an _archana_ , it’s this ritual that you do for a person for guidance and blessings and stuff. I just needed your names, your birth stars and well, you two don’t have a family lineage like I do, but the priest was willing to do it anyway.”

“My birth star?”

“Yeah, we don’t do star signs like you guys do. And, uh, I worked it out, on March 10, 1993, the star was Hasta, and so, yeah,” Toni says, rubbing the back of her neck.

“You really prayed for me,” Bucky whispers.

“Yeah, I did,” Toni whispers.

“Fuck,” Bucky declares.

And then, he’s storming forward, and Toni doesn’t know where to go, where to escape, before Bucky’s mouth is coming down on her with bruising force. Toni gasps against his mouth, and then, she’s clutching at his shoulders, draping her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him and enthusiastically returning the kiss, as his hands start to travel across her body, slipping underneath her thin, cotton shirt.

Toni’s hands move from his shoulders into his long, dark hair, her nails finding his scalp, and then, reason comes back to her, like a knife twisting deep in her gut, and with a muffled sound, she’s pushing him away.

They’re both breathing hard, the blood hot in their faces, and his mouth is damp and gleaming, and a sliver of heat curls in her belly, settles in her cunt.

“We can’t,” she says, wildly.

Bucky shakes his head. “You can’t keep denying us for the rest of our lives, Toni,” he accuses.

“I can fucking well try,” Toni retorts.

“This is… this is so fucking stupid,” Bucky snaps at her. “You’d ruin all three of our lives because you’re too fucking scared to give us another chance?”

Toni scoffs. “I wouldn’t be ruining your lives; don’t be so dramatic. You have each other, you don’t need me.”

Bucky’s fist clenches hard by his side. “You seriously think that you’re just some third wheel in our relationship, don’t you?” he asks, a little dazed.

Toni bites her lip and doesn’t answer.

“For fuck’s sake, Toni, you think, what, you think, without you, Steve and I are whole?” Bucky asks, incredulously.

_Yes._

“Because you’re wrong.”

Toni shakes her head. “You guys made it years without me; I don’t know how you can say that,” she says, haltingly.

“Yeah, we stuck together, but we felt the difference, the empty space where you used to be. The last time that things felt perfect was when we were in high school,” Bucky tells her.

“You guys… you two, you’re so perfect for each other,” Toni whispers.

“We’re perfect with _you_ ,” Bucky says, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re as much a part of this relationship as we are. We’re not asking you to join us so that we can fuck, and we can know what it’s like to have sex with a woman, for fuck’s sake. We want you to be with us because we love you and we know that you love us. It can work between the three of us, as equal parts of an equal relationship.”

“It didn’t before,” Toni retorts.

“Because of the other shit that was going on, and if you thought that it was because we didn’t feel the same way about you as I did about Steve and he did about you, you’re wrong, you’re so fucking wrong,” Bucky growls, deep in his chest. “When I was blown up, when I was lying there, bleeding out in the sand, I thought about Steve and I thought about you.”

It’s like the air is dragged out of her lungs.

“What?” she whispers.

“I thought about you, when I was lying out there in Afghanistan, thinking that I was going to die,” Bucky says, without flinching.

Tears edge her eyes.

“Seriously?” she asks, roughly.

“Yeah, Toni. I thought about you, and I thought about Steve,” Bucky says, solemnly, his voice strained. “I thought about how we should have talked to you, tried to fix things. I haven’t… I haven’t been able to get that look of yours when Steve shut the door on you out of my head in ten years. I thought about that look.”

“But… but we hadn’t seen each other in so long,” she stumbles. “And… and… you thought I’d gotten a restraining order against you.”

Bucky shrugs. “That didn’t matter to me at all,” he says, firmly. “Fuck, I…” he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I thought I was going to die out there, and I could feel all the blood leaking out into the sand, and I thought… fuck, I thought I should’ve talked to you, that _we_ should have talked to you and fixed things and stayed together. I had so many regrets where you were concerned.”

“I don’t want to think about you like that,” she admits. “I don’t want to think about you like that and with me not there for you.”

Bucky smooths his thumb over her cheek. “It was hard,” he tells her, gently. “I struggled for a long time. I still struggle. It’s no picnic. I have a lot of nightmares, panic attacks, episodes and things, but Sam, he put me in touch with some therapists who are good for this shit. I’m glad you weren’t there for that.”

“Why not?” she asks, almost afraid.

“I wouldn’t have wanted you to see me weak,” he says, bashfully. “I’m not… I have PTSD, I know that. I don’t… that’s something that I have, and it’s not going to go away. I just… you should probably know that, in case it changes your mind, or it probably makes you even more confident in your decision to stay away from us.”

“That’s bullshit,” she says, derisively.

Bucky blinks at her in surprise.

“What, you think I couldn’t have taken it? You think you were _weak_ for going through something awful and violent and coming out alive and maybe not whole on the other end? You think I’m weak because after Ty died, I have nightmares, I flinch when people touch me, I couldn’t have sex unless I was on top for years, I… don’t like it when I’m held down, and I react violently when I am, and I have scars on my body that Ty gave me? I’m a fucking mess because my husband used to beat the shit out of me, and I keep a gun under my bed, because I’m so fucking scared that he’ll come back to life and try and kill me.”

Bucky stares at her like he’s never seen her before.

“So, yeah, if you’re weak, I’m weak too,” Toni says, lamely, rubbing the back of her neck. She swallows hard. “And it’s not being fucking weak. It’s called PTSD, and it’s a valid fucking illness.” Her breath rushes out, like she’s deflating like a slashed tyre. “I’m sorry that happened to you,” she tells him, scraping her foot against the floor. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you. I should have been there for you. I still… no matter what happened between us, I still loved you, I still wanted you and Steve to be happy and safe, and I… I could’ve done things, you know, pulled strings and shit, but I stayed away because I was scared you didn’t want to see me.”

“I would’ve wanted to see you,” Bucky tells her, softly. “But Natasha might have tried to punch you.”

Toni snorts. “I would’ve punched her back.” She looks away. “But I… even if the two of you did miss me so much, and you weren’t whole without me, and I… I guess it will take me some time to get used to that, the idea that we’re all, uh, equal parts, equally loved, by each other,” she says, with an unsure tongue. “I just… I can’t-”

“You can’t do this with us,” Bucky finishes, heavily.

“Yeah,” Toni says, waving her hands with a flutter of anxiety. “I just… I don’t know if I can.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, quietly. “Spar with me,” he says, suddenly.

“What?” she asks, her brow furrowing.

“Spar with me.”

Toni scrunches up her face. “Why?”

“Because,” he gives her a shit-eating grin. “It’ll be fun.”

“No,” Toni says, slowly.

“Come on, doll, I promise I’ll go easy on you,” he coaxes, encouragingly.

Toni narrows her eyes. “Fine,” she says, grudgingly. “But only because I’m bored, and I want something to do.”

Bucky takes his stance, and she just stands there, awkwardly.

“Ready?” he checks in.

“Go ahead,” she tells him, shrugging.

He lobs a punch at her, and she ducks the blow before it can make contact with her body. He retracts his hand, staring at her with no small amount of surprise, and then he tries again. She blocks it with her forearm, before leaning back and smiling as if nothing had even happened.

The next time he tries it, she grabs him by the arm and tosses him over her shoulder. Bucky hits the ground with a painful smack and groans, peering up at her through slitted eyes.

“How did you… how did you _do_ that?” he demands, sitting up.

“My father was a very rich man,” she reminds him. “I used to get kidnapped all the time.”

“So, what you decided to become a martial artist?” Bucky asks, sceptically, getting to his feet.

Toni rolls her eyes. “Don’t be silly. More often than not, I escaped using my head, not my fists. But my cook, she was a Russian assassin, you know?”

“She was?” Bucky says, slowly.

Toni nods, cheerfully. “She’s the one who taught me how to fight. She said it would build character; plus, there were a lot of evil people in this world.”

“Yeah, that’s for sure,” Bucky mutters under his breath.

“What, did you think I couldn’t take care of myself?” Toni taunts, planting her hands over her hips.

Bucky gets a strange glint in his eyes. “Sure didn't help you much with that husband of yours though, did it?”

A scowl edges over Toni’s mouth. “What the fuck did you say to me?”

Bucky grins slightly. “I said, sure didn’t help you much-”

“Yeah, I heard what you said,” Toni says, sharply. “I’m wondering _why_ you said it.”

“Don’t you get it? I’m baiting you, doll,” Bucky says.

“You could’ve done that by poking me, you dick,” Toni says, sourly.

“Okay, fine,” Bucky says, triumphantly, and then, as he’d so subtly promised, starts poking her.

“Quit it,” she snaps, batting away his hand the third time he pokes her breast.

“But it’s so soft and cushiony,” Bucky complains.

“You are like a fucking fourteen-year-old,” Toni retorts.

“What are you gonna do about it?” Bucky says, slyly.

“Okay, I take that back; you’re a fucking five-year-old. My son has more maturity than you do,” Toni grumbles.

“Still, what are you gonna do about it?” Bucky says and pokes her harder this time.

Toni clutches at her breast, staring at him, horrified. “Ow, that hurt!”

“Yeah, baby, that was the point.”

He does it again, and this time, Toni decides to fight back. She kicks him in the calf, and he shouts, clutching at his leg and hopping around on one foot.

“Big brave mob boss man, you are,” she taunts, with a smirk curling her lips up.

Bucky glowers at her with fake-heat, and then, he gets her in the gut, making her huff and curl in on herself.

“Shit,” Bucky hisses, his eyes widening with terror and approaching her carefully. “Fuck, Toni, I’m sorry. _Shit_ , I didn’t mean to-”

Toni narrows her eyes, and then, she swipes her legs out from underneath the floor. He hits the ground with a dull, painful smack, and groans.

“You really like me on the ground, don’t you?” he asks, peeking up at her with only one eye open.

Toni shrugs. “If it suits your place,” she says, innocently.

Bucky’s smile grows slowly, showing just a hint of teeth, and then, he’s reaching out with his one good hand and yanking her down as well. She yelps and collides with his body, and he rolls both of them until he’s hovering on top of her, a warm weight pressed up against her, cradled between her thighs, painfully handsome, and she’s struggling against him, her fists planted against his chest, but she can’t seem to move him, wall of muscle that he is.

“Give up yet?” he taunts and brushes her hair out of her face, sweat prickling across her brow and between her breasts and the nape of her neck.

The glare that she gives him would have stripped bark from the tree, and finally, she grins, all teeth, and winds her legs around her waist, keeping him pinned there. Using the momentum of her fists against his chest and her thighs clutching at his hips, she manages to twist them around, so that she’s perched on top of him, with her hands against his shoulders.

“What was that?” she asks, softly, waggling her eyebrows, leaning in so close that their noses brush.

“Fucking hot,” Bucky growls, and his hand curls around the back of her neck, his fingers sliding into her hair.

Toni whines when his mouth slants over hers, and her fingernails dig into his shoulders, as he sits up and takes her with him. She drapes her arms around him, with his hips wedged in between her thighs, and her feet settled behind his back.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she pants.

“Because I didn’t have a taste of you for ten years, and now I have, and I just want to stay inside you for the rest of my fucking life,” Bucky drawls.

“You say the sweetest things to me,” she teases and takes his mouth with her own.

“This mean you changed your mind?” Bucky asks, carefully, when they break away.

“No, but feel free to try and convince me,” she offers.

Bucky makes a rough sound at the back of his throat, deep in his chest, and then, he bears her back down to the ground, kissing her hard on the mouth until he’s wringing a soft, desperate noise from her. She shudders and rubs against him like a cat, feline and delirious. His fingers are on her hips, tight enough to bruise, and she’s shifting restlessly underneath him, wanting something but not able to articulate what that something is.

He slips his hands under her shirt, and his warm, dry hands feel so good against her bare skin, that she mouths at the tender spot in his throat where his pulse is throbbing fast and wild and bites down, making him jerk against her. She feels the hard length of him pressed against her stomach, and she bites her lip, grinning through it.

“Well, hello there,” she teases.

Bucky lifts an eyebrow. “What, you were expecting something different?” he asks, dryly.

“Not at all. I just… sometimes forget how big you are,” she says, through the dip of her long, dark eyelashes.

“I’ll be happy to remind you anytime,” Bucky retorts and rubs up against her again.

“I hope that you won’t be reminding me with just some dry humping?”

“Just you wait and see,” Bucky tells her with a waggle of his eyebrows.

They resume a familiar pace, grasping and tumbling together, pushing and pulling, hard and fast, until she’s tugging at the hem of his shirt insistently, urging him to take it off, so that she can lay her hands and mouth all over his muscled chest, raised with silver-white scar tissue, some of them red-raw.

“Fuck, I love your chest,” she declares.

Bucky looks down at his chest, his eyes centring on the scars, especially the ones that circle his shoulders where the arm was detached from his body.

“Seriously?” he asks, sceptically.

Toni’s hand falls on the nape of his neck, leaning forward so that she can rest her forehead against his.

“I don’t care about the scars, remember? I have my own,” she reminds him. “Besides, you seemed to find me attractive the last time we had sex.”

“That’s because you’re fucking gorgeous,” he tells her.

Toni lifts an eyebrow. “I had a child, and it was a terrifying and painful labour, in which I pushed a small human out of my body. My feet are bigger, I didn’t lose all the pregnancy weight which left my stomach a little pudgy, even with my thighs. Oh, and don’t forget the stretch marks.”

“Yeah, I saw them,” he says, dryly. “I don’t care. I like the way your body looks. I liked you at seventeen, and I like you at twenty-seven. Besides, I literally don’t have an arm, Toni. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“Yeah?” Toni asks, hardly daring hope.

“Yeah.”

His mouth trails down from her jaw to her breastbone, mouthing at her skin through the fabric. He strips her off the shirt next, revealing her breasts contained by a simple cotton bra. Toni sits up, without blinking, just for a moment, and undoes the bra, removing the straps from her shoulders, and baring her breasts to his gaze. At the dark appreciation in his gaze, a flush of blood peaks in her dark nipples, and he groans.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he says and traces the slope of a single breast with her thumb, circling her nipple.

“Good, it’ll be a nice death,” she tells him, sinking her teeth in her lower lip, letting her head fall back, as he thumbs her nipple in a wilful, possessive gesture.

“I love your tits,” he rasps.

“Yeah?” Toni smiles.

“They’re fucking beautiful, a work of art,” he says, savouring the weight of them in his palms.

“Play your cards right, and I might let you fuck them,” she teases.

Bucky sucks in a sharp breath. “What?”

Toni shuffles closer so that he can properly get his hands on her tits. “Would you like that?” she asks, softly. “Put that hard cock between my tits, shove them together and fuck them until you cover my face in come.”

“You are a filthy girl,” he declares, seizing her mouth in a kiss.

Toni laughs against his lips, as she pulls away. “I have a lot of fantasies, and you and Steve have starred in quite a few of them.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Toni yelps when Bucky dips his head down to take one of her nipples between his teeth, tugging purposefully. She winds her fingers into his hair, as he runs his tongue around her nipple before moving to the other, keeping him there, but he seems to enjoy it and has absolutely no intention of moving away.

“I really fucking love your tits,” he says, once he does move back.

When she looks down, her nipples are tight and spit-shiny, and she can’t help but note the difference, as his pale, milk-smooth fingers against the dark skin of her breasts.

“Is that all you want to explore?” Toni asks, lifting an eyebrow.

Bucky’s arm wraps around her waist, and he lifts her up with no trouble at all, dragging her tights down her legs at the same time, when Toni gets a spark of inspiration and her fingers make for the ties on his sweatpants. She manages to get them off at the same time that her leggings are kicked off her ankles, and for the most part, they’re pressed bare skin to bare skin, but for their underwear, her breasts rubbing up against the smattering of his chest hair.

“What is going on here?”

Toni and Bucky break away, staring in the direction of the door, where Steve is standing, shell-shocked and rooted to the spot.

And then, he’s moving.

“What the fuck, guys?” he hisses, shutting the door behind her and planting his back against it, as if to ward off invaders. “What if someone had walked in?”

Toni grins at him. “Then, they would’ve gotten one hell of a fucking show.”

Steve scowls, his jaw clenched down hard. “I don’t like that.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my body and I can be an exhibitionist with whomever I want,” she tells him, coyly. “Now, are you just going to stand there and watch, or would you prefer to join and get a tight little hole around your cock to get you off?”

Steve’s throat flexes, and he runs his thumb over his lower lip. “What hole is that?” he asks.

“Well, you can choose,” she says, loftily.

She turns around in Bucky’s lap, so that he can splay his flesh hand over her belly, and she can spread her legs, showing him her damp underwear.

“You can have my very willing cunt or Bucky’s tight ass.”

“Fuck,” Steve declares. His voice lowers to a rumble coming from his chest. “How am I supposed to make that choice?”

“Well, to be fair, we all win in some way,” she points out. “If you choose my cunt, Bucky will fuck you, and if you choose his ass, he will fuck me. So, everybody wins.”

“Well, in that case,” Steve says, padding forward, getting onto his knees and crawling forward.

He mouths at her underwear, making her jerk, before nudging her panties aside and licking into her.

“Shit,” she hisses, her hands working their way into his hair, just as Bucky’s hand travels upwards and gropes at her tits, pinching at her nipples.

Steve’s hands splay her thighs open, so that he can have full access, but at some point, he gets pissed off by her underwear and draws them from her body, and they make a sodden sound when they land on the floor, making her flush. He nudges his head between her legs again, as she guides him with her hand in hair, nuzzling against the dark thatch of curls there, before licking up her cunt, spreading her open, flat against her sex and gentle.

He’s slow and careful, like he’s trying to draw out every single noise that her vocal cords are capable of making. He starts from the outside, with a rough swipe of his tongue against the whole length and width of her sex. Then, he licks into her, delving in deep, tasting her soft, hot cunt, his tongue curling inside her, rubbing up against her inner flesh. He licks her clean where she’s also dripping, lapping her up where she starts to leak onto her thighs, swirling his tongue over every inch of her. She starts grinding against his face, her hips rising into the air, unable to halt, and she clamps her thighs around his head, as he just licks and licks and licks, with fervour and without hesitation.

“Oh, Steve, yes,” she hisses, her fingers tight against his scalp. “Yes, please, just like that, don’t _stop_.”

And then, he runs the edge of his tongue over her clit in a slow, trembling circle, and Bucky pinches her nipple hard between his fingers, and the pleasure-pain skirting her senses provokes her orgasm, and she comes, pulsing hard against his mouth, sinking back against Bucky’s chest.

“You two might actually be the death of me,” she says, dazed, absently, as her thighs still shake.

Steve laughs, softly, and rises to his knees so that he can kiss her, and she can taste herself on his lips and tongue. His fingers work their way between her legs, brushing against her cunt, and she jerks, a little unpleasantly, scowling.

“Too sensitive?” he checks in.

“Too sensitive,” she agrees, still breathing hard. “Give me a minute.”

Bucky’s hand smooths her hair away from her face and then, down to her shoulders, rubbing soothing lines into her skin that make her eyes flutter shut. Finally, she takes a deep, steadying breath, and she twirls her hand in the air in a circle.

“Okay, I’m good, did you make your decision?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

“I want to be inside you. Bucky got you last time,” he says, confidently.

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Bucky protests.

“How is that not fair?” Steve demands.

“Well, I got things going here, and what, now, you want to take advantage of all my hard-work and take everything for yourself?”

“Now, boys, you don’t have to fight. If you play your cards right, you can both fuck me,” she offers.

“Yeah, that’s assuming that we both have at least two orgasms in us,” Bucky points out.

Toni rolls her eyes. “You’re twenty-seven, not fifty-seven,” she says, snidely. “Sure you don’t get hard at a particularly forceful gust of wind like you might have when you were sixteen, but I’m pretty sure you don’t need to be popping blue diamonds all of a sudden.”

“You think too much of us,” Bucky sniffs.

“I guess we’ll just have to see,” she says, smiling that secret smile of hers. “Now, take off your clothes.”


	17. xvii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: explicit sexual content, dirty talk.

Steve chews on his lower lip and strips himself off his clothes, his jeans and underwear joining his shirt quick enough. She leans forward, curling her fingers around the base of his cock and corkscrewing upwards until he fills in her hand. His cock beads with pre-come and it wets her palm, adding to the lubrication to make her spontaneous handjob all the more better.

She leans forward and runs her tongue over his lower, and he groans against her, and then, his hands are grabbing her by the thighs, pulling her from Bucky’s lap and onto the floor, crowding them apart, so that he can hook them around his waist. She feels the hard length of him pressing up against her cunt, the dribble of pre-come against her pubic hair, and then, he’s sliding into her, and she’s making a muffled sound of pleasure against the ground, her hands clenching around air.

When she twists her head, Steve is peering down at her, his pupils blooming wide and dark in his head, and they’re locked on the sight of his cock inside her, parting her wide like a ripe fucking peach, and the heavy curve of her breasts.

And then, he’s inside her until the base, his pubic hair scratching against the insides of her thighs, and her head is lolling, her mouth dry as sawdust. When she looks down, her legs are splayed open and loose, and she’s so wet that she’s dripping down his cock, her dark hair a soft shadow between her thighs. She’s the perfect fit around his cock, and it’s beautiful, the way he’s inside her, tangled around her, and all she can feel is the hot-slick slide of his skin against hers, the draw and push of his cock inside her, and the dilated look to his eyes.

She angles her hips down so that she can grind her clit against his pelvic bone as she bears down on his cock, balancing herself onto his elbows so that she’s halfway in the air. He thrusts inside her, furious and almost clumsy and achingly, unthinkingly familiar, ripping a pulse of pleasure from her body, filling up all the empty spaces within the confines of her body. She takes a deep breath, and the throbbing around his cock changes, and it’s like a million flashes of heat in her belly, curling and twisting around each other until she feels like she’s made of fire and tasting of fire, moving around him with what she assumes and hopes is sinuous grace.

She shifts her hips, and Steve leans down, getting onto his knees. He winds a hand under her body, settling over the nape of her neck, and pulls her up so that they’re face to face.

“I love you,” he tells her and snaps his hips forward.

The thrust knocks the air out of her lungs, and she collapses onto his shoulder, her mouth a slack, wet smear, squirming unthinkingly on his cock as he splits her open.

She tangles her fingers with his and raises it to his mouth, laying a kiss on his knuckles.

“I love you, Toni, I love you,” he says, softly, grunting suddenly.

When she lifts her head, Bucky is behind Steve, and she looks down, seeing at least three fingers working their way into Steve’s body.

She swallows past the dryness. “You work fast,” she says, tightening her arms around his shoulders.

Bucky shrugs. “I want to come inside him, the same time that he comes in you. Do you think we can work that out?”

Toni bites her lower lip. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up,” she warns.

Bucky kisses her, so unbearably soft that she turns red all over. “Don’t worry, doll. I’ll be quick.”

She watches with interest, as Steve’s thrusts slow, and he’s content for quick, dirty grinds that keep her interested but further away from the edge, while Bucky slides his fingers knuckle-deep into Steve’s body with ease. Steve’s teeth find the tendon in Toni’s throat and bite down, making her keen and rake her nails down his back.

Bucky twists his fingers mercilessly, as if he wants to skirt the edge of pain, but Steve just groans, pushing back against them. At some point, Bucky must decide that Steve is ready, because he pulls his fingers out, and he’s wrapping a hand around his cock, giving himself a few strokes to keep him on the edge. And then, Toni is watching as the blunt head of Bucky’s cock is pressing into Steve’s ass, hips snapping forth in sharp, angry thrusts without giving him any room to breathe.

“Fuck,” Steve curses, all-but groans, and his hands turn to steel on Toni’s body.

And then, she’s moving, rising and falling down on his cock, taking him into her body over and over again, and Bucky is grunting soft with each of his thrusts. Steve is thrusting up to meet her hips, his fingers settling in the dips of her pelvic bone, as he’s breached and filled up.

“How does it feel, Stevie?” Bucky asks, his voice strained, as he thrusts forward. “My cock in your ass, Toni’s pussy wrapped around your cock? You’re getting it from all sides.”

“It feels amazing,” Steve gasps, the muscles in his abdomen flexing as he draws out of her.

The next thrust makes Steve’s whole body rock towards her, the head of his cock rubbing up against that spot inside that her makes her gush, and the coil of heat in her belly tighten.

“You should probably now,” she moans, her face twisting with ecstasy. “I foresee myself coming in like a handful of minutes.”

“You got it, doll,” Bucky says, and his face sets with resolve.

His rhythm changes, becomes harder and angrier, and Steve’s expression is covered in that hot, lovely rush of pleasure, and all she can do is lie there and take it, as the next, final, brutal thrust barrels her right into an orgasm that makes her cunt clench over and over again around his cock, the blood pounding in her ears.

Steve fucks her right through her, through the oversensitive mess between her legs, and she cries out, high-pitched and sharp, as she’s drawn into a third orgasm that leaves her limp and trembling. Steve chases his climax with shallow, aimless thrust, making undignified noises of pleasure. His face is damp with sweat, his hair sticking close to his skin, and she reaches up, unbearably soft, brushing a few strands out of his eyes.

“You almost there?” she asks, gently.

Steve nods shakily.

She slides her hand underneath his balls, slipping underneath to find his perineum, and she presses the pad of her finger just there, as Bucky rams into him hard, and Steve comes, his orgasm washing over him in a sudden, furious rush that makes him pulse wet inside her, leaving streaks of come leaking out onto her thighs.

She looks up, just in time to see Bucky sink his teeth into the meat of Steve’s shoulder, his hand tightening on the slope of Steve’s hip, as he comes hard, his orgasm shaking through him, arching his back with a long, punched-out groan.

And then, all three collapse onto the floor in equal states of breathlessness, and Toni is in the middle, her hands groping for warmth and weight from both of them. Steve sighs and pulls her close, draping an arm over her slim waist, and she ends up tangling her legs with Bucky’s as he smooths her hair back, brushing it away from her sweat-damp face.

“Well, that was really fun,” she says, after a moment.

And then, she starts laughing, and within moments, Bucky and Steve are joining her, and the sound is bouncing off the walls.

“What were you two even doing in here?” Steve asks, once the sound dies down and their stomachs are effectively hurting.

“We were sparring; it just sort of devolved from there,” she explains, twisting her body so that she’s lying diagonal between them, her feet propped up on Bucky’s calves and her head resting on Steve’s chest.

“Well, it sure as hell didn’t look like sparring when I walked in here, that’s for sure,” Steve mutters.

“This was a different type of sparring, with more nudity and fondling,” Bucky teases.

“It was good,” Toni says, softly. “I haven’t…” she feels her skin heat up. “I haven’t felt that close to anyone in a long time,” she admits. “I’m glad… I’m glad I got a chance to feel it again.”

Steve tenses under the weight of her body. “Because you’re planning on leaving soon,” he says, carefully. “And you don’t want to see us ever again.”

Toni closes her eyes. “Do we really have to have this argument right now?” she says, her voice almost pleading.

“Toni,” Steve exhales. “Toni, you’re making all of these stupid, unilateral decisions about us, and what, we don’t even get to be angry or want to talk about it?”

Toni lifts her head, shifts so that she’s lying on her stomach and she can look Steve in the eye.

“I never said I didn’t want to see you again,” she says, pointedly.

“So, what, we’re friends now?” Steve demands. “We’re friends whom you occasionally have sex with? Is that what this was to you? Another instance where you needed an itch scratched?”

Toni flinches at the reminder of their earlier interaction.

“That’s not what this was,” she says, quietly.

“But you’ll still not let anything happen between us, right?” Steve asks, coldly. “Because you’re scared.”

“I am _not_ scared,” she hisses.

“Bullshit,” Bucky says, derisively. “You’d rather make all three of us unhappy because you’re too scared to take a leap and see if there’s something worthy of keeping in what we have together. You’d rather hurt us than love us.”

Toni finds her eyes burning with tears. “I’m not trying to hurt you,” she whispers.

“Well, you are,” Steve says, bluntly. “We’re hurt, and you keep using us for sex, and that just hurts us even more.”

“For fuck’s sake, I didn’t _use_ you,” Toni snaps. “Bucky kissed me, both times, and you… you jumped in as soon as I gave you the go-ahead. Stop trying to act like the fucking victims here.”

She jumps to her feet, unashamed by her nakedness, as she stares down at them.

“I didn’t do anything that you two didn’t want. And yes, I don’t think we should be together, because we’ll only hurt each other like we did the last time. Is that really what you want?” Toni asks, incredulously.

“What makes you think that we’ll hurt each other?” Steve asks, carefully. “I love you, Bucky loves you, you love Bucky and me, and Bucky loves both of us. A lot of shit happened to us before, some of which was manipulated by your father and some which we did to ourselves, but we were fucking children. Is it so hard to believe that all of us might have learned from our mistakes? That we wouldn’t make the same ones all over again?”

Toni remains silent.

“I think you are scared,” Steve goes on. “You’re scared, because you’ve been alone all of these years, haven’t you? Even when you were with us the first time, you were alone, or rather, you wanted to be alone. Because when you’re alone, no one can hurt you, no one can make you feel less. And you’re scared because you think that if you let us back in, you’ll be hurt again. Toni, I can’t promise you that we won’t hurt you again, just like you can’t promise us that you won’t hurt us again.”

Toni snorts. “Then, what’s the point?” she asks, sourly.

“Because we’re adults, and even though we’ll hurt each other, hopefully not in the same, final way that we did ten years ago, we’ll still love each other, and when we have problems, we’ll work it out. We’ll fucking communicate the way we should have all those years ago. I believe that we can do that. Do you?”

It’s so tempting, the urge to just open her mouth and let the _yes_ roll off her tongue and land in the air, in this fraction of reality that belongs to them.

Then, she shakes her head, her fear winning out.

“For fuck’s sake,” Bucky mutters.

Steve throws his hands up in the air. “You know, of all the things that I’ve thought about you, scared is not one of them,” he says, heavily.

Toni grits her teeth at the sting of the words. “If it takes insulting me to come to terms with my decision, go right ahead,” she says, stonily.

“I’m not trying to insult you, Toni. I’m just trying to get you to understand how great we would be together. I want you to be with us, to stay with us. I want us to be in love and stay in love,” he tells her, desperately and half-wild, climbing to his feet. “Stay with us, don’t go.”

“And Peter?” Toni offers.

“We’re not asking you to leave him behind. We have plenty of space here; you can both stay here with us.”

“He has school,” Toni points out.

Steve shrugs. “He can go from here.”

“What about Stark Industries?”

“It’s not a terribly long commute.”

“Now, you’re being deliberately facetious,” Toni retorts.

“No, I’m trying to make you understand that whatever issues that you foresee with us being together, we can work it out,” Steve tells her, tangling his hands with hers. “We _can_ , Toni.”

“I can’t… I just can’t,” Toni whispers. “I love you both, I do. I just don’t see how this can work out permanently. I have Peter and I have Stark Industries, and you guys, you have your mob and your people here and whatever the fuck you’re doing downtown, and I just… I don’t know how we get those lives to mix.”

“We know you’re worried about Peter; we know that you don’t want him to get attached to us in case things don’t work out. I can’t promise you that things are going to work out, but we understand that your first priority is Peter, that you’re not going to do anything that will hurt him, but all we’re asking is that if you give us a chance, we will try our hardest to make sure that this doesn’t affect him in any way.”

“How?” Toni asks, incredulously. “How do you plan on doing that?”

“Because even if things don’t work out, we’re not going to disappear from his life or your life,” Steve says, firmly.

Toni flounders for words.

“That’s what you’re worried about, right? Peter getting attached, things not working out, and you having to deal with the fallout of Peter feeling abandoned. I’m telling you now, Toni, that’s not going to happen. We aren’t going to abandon you or Peter, even if things between us don’t work out.”

Toni wrings her hands together. “How can I be so sure of that?” she whispers.

“Can’t you tell?” Steve asks, his voice high and thin. “Can’t you tell _already_? Because Toni, we thought you’d lied and told your father that we abused you, that we were using you for money, that we were forcing you to be in a relationship with you, that we were blackmailing you using revenge porn, that you wanted your father to pay someone to break our legs, that you were willing to tell all of those lies to a fucking judge to get a restraining order against us, that you didn’t have the guts to come to us in fucking person and break up with us and instead made this whole, huge drama, and we _still_ came when you were in danger,” he tells her, setting his shoulders in a defensive slant. “We still saved you when some asshole was going to blow you up. We still kept you and your kid here, with us, when we thought your life is in danger. We’re still hunting down the people who are trying to hurt you, so you can be safe. We did all of those things, even when we thought the worst of you. Now, knowing that there is no worst of you, what makes you think that we’d just leave if things ended between us again?”

Toni stirs at that, forcing herself to acknowledge the point.

“So, if you believe that we’re just going to leave you high and dry at some point, even after you’ve committed to us again and brought your son into the situation as well, you’re fucking wrong,” Steve finishes, with a hint of venom to his voice. “You’re so fucking wrong.”

Toni opens her mouth, and then, there’s a knock on the door.

“Uh, guys, you decent?” an awkward voice sounds from behind it.

It’s Sam.

“Give us a minute,” Toni says, without taking her eyes from Steve.

She finds her clothes in a hurry, dressing herself, but it takes a few minutes before Steve and Bucky join her.

“What? You plan on giving them a show?” she asks, sharply.

Bucky shrugs, lazily, leaning back and stunning her into silence with the lined muscles of his abdomen.

“It wouldn’t be the worst thing they’ve scene.”

“I knew you were exhibitionists,” she says, disgusted.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” Bucky retorts. “I distinctly remember you paying off the school counsellor who caught you sucking both of us off behind the bleachers in junior year.”

Toni finds her mouth twisting upwards in a smile.

“Yeah, that was a fun time, wasn’t it?” she wonders out loud, fondly.

“It was great,” Bucky agrees, tying his hair up high in a bun, skilfully with one hand (frankly, Toni wouldn’t have been able to do that). “Remember his face.”

Toni giggles. “God, I thought his eyes were about to pop out of his head.”

“Can we please not talk about this?” Steve begs, his face completely red like a tomato.

Toni laughs harder this time. “You were so embarrassed,” she teases.

“Yeah, because the guidance counsellor caught me with my dick out,” Steve points out.

“Yeah, and that dick was in my mouth, and you certainly weren’t complaining,” Toni retorts. She shakes her head. “He was so pissed. I’m still convinced he was just jealous that he’d never gotten a blowjob as good as the one that I was giving you.”

“He was staring at your tits,” Bucky agrees. His face darkens. “I remember wanting to punch the guy.”

“Yeah, that’s why I paid him off, because if you had, you’d have been expelled for sure,” Toni says, slowly.

The next knock on the door is harder, more forceful.

“Excuse me, I’m sure that the nostalgia is great and all, but we really need to speak to you guys,” Sam snaps through the door.

“For fuck’s sake, put some clothes on, or you might take an eye out with those things,” Toni hisses, nodding at their cocks, as she makes her way to the door.

She opens the door and steps aside to let Sam and Thor and Natasha and Clint flood the room.

“Okay, this room smells like sex,” Clint says, slowly, his face scrunching up.

“Yeah, that’s because we were having sex,” Toni tells him, conspiratorially.

“Disgusting,” Clint declares. He pauses. “Although, maybe not, because you’ve been like Sexiest Woman Alive for the last five years, right?”

“Since I was eighteen and they were legally allowed to name me, without my mother wanting to destroy them for objectifying a child,” Toni tells him.

“Okay, in that case, probably not disgusting,” Clint muses.

“No, no, you were right the first time around, it is disgusting,” Natasha says, her lips pursing thin. “And in any case, we need to talk to you.”

Strangely enough, it’s not Steve or Bucky that she’s addressing, but Toni.

Toni frowns. “About what?”

Natasha sighs, and suddenly, she’s shoving a handful of photographs into her hands. It takes Toni a moment to understand what she’s seeing in front of her, and almost instantaneously, she grows cold on the inside.

They’re photographs of a warzone.

“It’s a town called Gulmira,” Natasha says, softly. “Have you heard of it?”

Toni shakes her head, absently.

“It’s a small town in Afghanistan,” Natasha replies, almost sympathetically.

The Gulmira in these pictures is no nice place, not even just a regular, ordinary warzone.

It is a warzone with tanks and guns and weapons with her name on them and corpses and dead animals. She looks at the _Stark Industries_ on all of that munitions, and equal parts rage and fear pump through her, turning her insides to lead before they melt into something burning and dreadful.

Fuck, she might actually vomit.

Her body actually sways, and suddenly, Steve is yelping, “Shit!”, and he’s catching her before she falls, keeping her on her feet.

Toni grabs onto his shoulder to keep her steady, even leaning into him, as her gut twists into a single, hard knot that stretches right into her lungs and breastbone.

“What… what is this?” Toni whispers, like there’s a foot lodged in her ribs.

“It looks like there’s a terrorist group that’s fallen onto the city. Farmers and herders from the villages have been driven from their homes and lands. Villagers have been forced to take shelter in the ruins of other villages. The men are heavily armed and… well, it looks like they’re killing every able-bodied man if they don’t join the militia. There doesn’t seem to be anything being done by Afghanistan’s government, and the US is refusing to get involved.”

“But they… they have my weapons,” Toni says, dully. “Why do they have my weapons?”

“We were… going to ask you that question,” Sam says, after a moment.

When Toni is brave enough to lift her head, she immediately dislikes the look on his face, sharply edged with condemnation.

“I don’t… I don’t sell under the table. I don’t sell to terrorists,” she says, with a shrillness to her voice. “I don’t… I don’t do that. I don’t. I _don’t_ ,” she says, almost pleadingly, as her hand fists in Steve’s shirt.

“Then, how do they have your weapons?” Thor asks, infinitesimally gentle.

“I don’t know, I don’t know, _I don’t know_ ,” she sobs out. “Why do they have my weapons? Why do they have my _weapons_?” she asks, her hands trembling around the photos.

After a moment, her fingers finally give up the gesture, and the photos slip to the ground.

Toni closes her eyes, wills her heart to slide free of her throat and stop pounding like a jackhammer in her ribcage, and takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“I’m sorry, I…” she begins, careful and weighty. “I just… I don’t sell weapons to terrorists,” she stresses, patiently. “I only sell to the United States government.”

“Could they have resold them at any point?” Clint asks her, pointedly.

“No, no, they couldn’t have,” she says, with a firm shake of her head. “That’s a… that’s a breach of our contract. Reselling, it’s… it’s not allowed, to avoid this particular issue. I didn’t want… I wanted to control where the weapons were going. It makes sense if the US military were using them, but if they sold it to some fucking rebel group in Nicaragua to kill babies and rape women on the streets… _no_ , no, I wouldn’t have… this wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to… this was exactly what I was trying to _stop_ from happening. I…”

She can’t breathe, her lungs squeezing too tight in her chest, and then, she can, and she’s breathing hard and deep, like she’s in pain, and time is slowing and stretching, and she can hear the sound of heartbeat in her ears, a pressure around her chest, like a vice, and then, there are hands settling on her shoulders.

“Toni, I need you to breathe,” Sam is murmuring in her ear, soft and unmoving. “Slow and steady.”

“I’m trying,” she gasps out. “I’m trying, and it’s not working.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Sam soothes. “You can do it. Take your time.”

Toni, finally, discovers her lungs after a few minutes, and Sam waits, his eyes locked with hers, until he’s absolutely certain that she’s safe and breathing easy.

“I didn’t, I wouldn’t have sold them the weapons,” she blurts out, like she’s begging him to understand.

Sam smiles like the sun, ever confident and beautiful. “It’s okay, I believe you. _We_ believe you.”

“Yeah?” she asks in a small voice.

She closes her eyes.

“How the hell did this happen?” Toni asks, dully.

“Could they be fakes?” Natasha proposes. “Is it possible that someone just is… very good at remaking what you’ve already made?”

“Do we… I mean, is there any footage?” Toni offers. “Of the weapons being used. I could probably look at it and see if… see if it looks like something I made. I’m not, I’m not being the person that, you know, pretends like they’re God’s gift to weapons’ making but-”

“You kind of are,” Bucky finishes for her.

Everyone turns to look at him, and he sticks his hands up in the air.

“Hey, I’m not saying this as someone who just had sex with her,” he says, quickly.

Toni absolutely is not embarrassed.

“It’s just that… well, Stark weapons are in a league of their own, right? Nothing works like them. I remember the guns that we had. They worked like a dream,” Bucky points out. “The bombs too. Hell, there was a time when we had the Hammer ones-”

“Yuck,” Toni says, with a vociferous disgust.

“Remember those, Sam?” Bucky says, pointedly.

Sam makes a face. “Yeah, those are pretty shit.”

“That’s because Hammer is a moron,” Toni says, slowly, a familiar anger beating through her. “And he doesn’t know anything about anything.”

“Especially compared to you,” Thor says, quietly, with a knowing look in his eye.

Toni’s mouth flickers in the semblance of a smile.

“I’m just saying that it’s probably not likely that someone was capable of duplicating her weapons,” Bucky says, softly.

“I’d have to check to be sure,” Toni muses. “Is there… is there a video?”

“I’ll check on YouTube,” Clint says and immediately starts tapping something onto his phone.

After a moment, Clint hands her the phone, and she watches as a bomb in the hands of someone clad in dark clothing, from head to foot, fires a bomb that destroys one of the village homes in Gulmira in a terrible, fiery blast.

Toni’s gut clenches hard.

“Yeah,” she says, the phone almost slipping from her hand as the video ends, and Clint quickly snatches it before it hits the ground the same way as the photos went. “Those are mine. Those are the ones that I designed, that I made.”

“So, how did they get to Afghanistan and Gulmira?”

“Is it possible…” Steve says, carefully. “Is it possible that someone in your company is selling under the table?”

“I… I… don’t want to suspect anyone. I don’t…” Toni trails off. “I just, I trust most people in my company, and I wouldn’t even begin to know where to start to look for…” She closes his eyes. “Does anyone have a laptop?” she asks, suddenly.

The six of them exchange a number of different looks between themselves.

“I have one,” Natasha chimes in.

“Can I, uh, use it? I think I can start digging into this,” she says, hardly daring hope.

Thor frowns. “How will you start digging into this?” he asks, confused.

“I can, uh, connect to the Stark Industries servers and start looking into the shipments of weapons that have gone out,” she explains.

“But there must be hundreds of thousands of that,” Sam points out.

“Yeah, there are, but I recognise the line of missiles in this video, and so, I can, uh, I can search for those specific purchase orders and see where they went and if there is anything fucked-up is going on here.”

“I’ll go and get my laptop,” Natasha says, finally, and leaves the room.

She comes back with a thick, bulky black thing that she hands over to Toni.

“This is your laptop?” Toni asks, flatly.

“Yes,” Natasha replies.

“Are you a gamer?” she asks, incredulously.

“No,” Natasha says, slowly.

“Then, what the fuck is this thing?” Toni demands.

Natasha frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“This isn’t a laptop,” Toni says, not unkindly. “This is something that you beat the guy that peering into your bedroom with.”

Natasha scowls. “Okay, Toni, not all of us are billionaires.”

“Billionaires-shmillionaires,” Toni retorts. “Even drug dealers have MacBook Airs today.” She shakes her head. “When this is done, I am destroying this and getting you a new one.”

Natasha shrugs. “I’m not one to say no to new, expensive things.”

“Okay, uh, we should probably go to the lounge for this. I’m going to need something cushiony to sit down on or my ass is going to hurt.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Clint mutters under his breath.

Steve, Bucky and Toni all, in turn, glower at him for the comment.

“You know, just for that, why don’t you go and stay with Peter, make sure he isn’t tempted to come find the rest of us, huh, Clint?” Steve says, gently, a wicked look in his eyes.

“So, what, I’m relegated to babysitter, now?” Clint demands.

“Pretty much,” Steve replies.

“I’m one of the best shots in the world,” Clint exclaims.

“Yeah, and Peter likes a Ribena juice box at around four in the afternoon,” Toni tells him, simply.

Clint scowls. “This is not done,” he threatens and flits out of the room.


	18. xviii.

Toni plants the brick-like laptop on the coffee table and perches on the edge of the sofa. After a few minutes of tapping, she manages to connect to the Stark Industries’ servers.

 _Miss Antonia_? JARVIS’ message flashes in red across the face.

“Uh, is that server talking to you?” Sam clarifies from behind the couch.

“Yeah, that’s JARVIS. He’s my artificial intelligence, and he runs a lot of Stark Industries,” Toni explains.

Steve jerks beside her. “JARVIS, as in…?” he says, pointedly.

“Yep,” Toni says. She types back, _I’m fine, J,_ into the computer.

JARVIS: _Miss Antonia, are you and Master Peter well? Are you harmed? Shall I send someone for the two of you? No one has heard from you in weeks. There were fears that you are dead. Mr Stane has notified the local police department, filing two missing person’s reports. The stock of Stark Industries has dropped thirty points in your absence, and DUM-E has not stopped asking for you and Master Peter._

Toni: _Will you please tell him that we’re both fine, and that, no one is to worry about us. Hopefully, we should be back very soon._

JARVIS: _I will do as you ask, miss. I believe it will be of some comfort to the bots. They have missed you both so._

Toni’s eyes edge with tears.

Toni: _We’ve missed them too. I missed you, J._

JARVIS: _I missed you as well, Miss Antonia, and the young master as well. Where are you, miss?_ _I have determined your coordinates from the Internet Protocol address used to connect to the Stark Industries’ surface, but I am unable to identify a title deed as to the ownership of the site that the coordinates mark._

Toni: _We’re safe, J, I promise. I’ll tell you everything when I get back. But right now, I need your help._

JARVIS: _You never have to ask me anything, Miss Antonia._

“Okay, that’s just a little bit creepy. He’s like a real person,” Sam muses.

Toni looks up, her expression suffused with impatience. “That’s because he is a real person,” she says, simply.

“But he’s a robot, right?” Sam says, slowly.

Toni’s mouth parts in offence. “He is _not_ a robot. He’s an artificial intelligence. He might be the most impressive creation that exists on this planet. He began from code, and a decade later, he can _emote_ like a human, has way more compassion than a human, and could probably rule the world if I gave him permission to do so or he thought it would be beneficial in his primary protocol.”

“Okay, now, I’m officially scared,” Sam declares.

“What is his primary protocol?” Thor asks, curiously.

Toni bares the razor line of her teeth in a smile. “To protect me and mine.”

She turns back to the computer.

“Your girlfriend is slightly terrifying,” she hears Sam hiss at Steve.

Steve and Bucky just preen in smugness.

Toni: _I need you to first confirm something for me. There is a video going around of the Ten Rings’ invasion of Gulmira, a small town in Afghanistan._

JARVIS: _Yes, Miss Antonia, I have seen it._

Toni: _They have my weapons, J._

JARVIS: _I am aware, miss, but I do not know why._

Toni: _Yeah, that’s why I need help, J. Is it just me or can you also see a Tellor Propellant Rifle in the video, being used by the terrorists?_

It takes JARVIS barely a nanosecond to reply.

JARVIS: _Yes, Miss Antonia, that does appear to be a Tellor Propellant Rifle_.

Toni: _I need to find all the purchase orders for the Tellor Propellant Rifle. See if there’s anything that looks suspicious and feed it back to me._

JARVIS: _Very well, miss_.

After a moment, the screen flashes with a number of documents.

“Okay, okay,” she mutters, bringing one up. “So, this appears to be a receipt from four months ago, authorising the shipment and subsequent delivery of a number of cases of the Tellor Propellant Rifle to an undisclosed location around the border of Afghanistan and Pakistan. This must be the case that fell into the hands of the Ten Rings, because I never signed off on it.”

“But that’s your signature, isn’t it?” Natasha says, pointing to the signature at the bottom.

“At first glance, it would be, but it’s missing quite a few little things that make it my signature.”

“So, then, someone forged your signature,” Bucky says, slowly.

“Yeah, it looks like,” Toni grinds out. “Let’s just be sure.”

She finds her phone and rings Pepper’s number.

“Hello?” Pepper’s voice comes out clear as a bell through the speaker. “Toni, is that you? Toni, what the _fuck_? Why haven’t you called me back? Where are you? This is getting ridiculous, Toni. _We_ can protect you. We can get you extra security. Hell, Rhodey says he’ll get you a fucking Air Force escort-”

Bucky mutters something unfavourable under his breath about the Air Force, and in response, she shoves her elbow into his ribs, making him grunt.

“Don’t say shit about Rhodey,” she says, sweetly. “I love you, but I’ll punch you in the face.”

“Oh, my God, are they there? Are the _douchebags_ there? Give the phone to them. I have something to say,” Pepper says, with a dangerous tone to her voice.

Toni frowns and picks up the phone. “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t have to worry about anything,” Pepper soothes. “Rhodey told me everything. I want to talk to them.”

Beside her, Steve and Bucky are wincing.

“Okay, it was actually a whole misunderstanding, and we worked everything out,” Toni says, gently.

“The _fuck_ you did,” Pepper snaps into the phone. “Give them the phone.”

Toni rolls her eyes. “Okay, Pepper, I didn’t actually call to get you to read my ex-boyfriends the riot act. I need to ask you a question.”

“What, Toni? _What_?” Pepper demands, sounding frazzled.

It can’t have been easy on her, with Toni disappearing into thin air for weeks, and her having to deal with everything in Toni’s absence and having to keep the secret of where Toni actually is.

Toni might just have to buy her the entire 2020 collection of Mahnolo Blahnik to make up for these events.

Oh, well, it wasn’t like she wasn’t already going to do that for herself and Pepper anyway.

“The Tellor Propellant Rifles. I need you to look up a particular invoice for me and tell me whether it was one that I actually signed, one that you passed to me. Can you do that?”

“What the hell,” Pepper says, wearily. “What’s the number?”

“2019/3982345,” Toni replies, promptly, peering at the receipt in question.

“Give me a second,” Pepper murmurs. “Huh,” she says, after a moment.

“Please define that sound,” Toni replies.

“It looks like your signature, but I don’t remember passing you this invoice,” Pepper says, confused. “I don’t remember the invoice number. I don’t remember this shipment at all. What the hell is this?”

Toni’s lungs squeeze a little too tight in her chest. “Okay, that’s all I needed to know. Thanks, Pep.”

“No, wait, Toni, don’t you _dare_ hang up the phone-”

“Bye, Pep, talk to you later,” Toni says and makes a kissing sound into the phone, before hanging up. She sighs. “Well, fuck,” she says, sour and unpleasant. “She’s going to kill me when I get back, and there’s the corroboration.”

Natasha makes a soft noise that draws Toni’s attention.

“What?” she asks, confused.

“Is there a possibility that Pepper can’t be trusted?” Natasha asks, quietly.

“No,” Toni says, immediately, without missing a beat.

“Toni,” Bucky says, softly, laying a hand on her thigh.

Toni bats it away, the anger washing through her. “If Pepper is committing crimes of this nature against Stark Industries, me, and the United States, then, I deserve everything I get through her,” she says, coldly. “Pepper has been with me for _years_ , since she was a grad student and interning in the accounting department and she almost pepper-sprayed a fucking security guard to save me millions of dollars. That’s how she became my PA in the first place. It makes absolutely no sense for Pepper to betray me. I pay her an obscene amount of money. She’s like family, some of the only family I have left in my life. Peter calls her _Aunt Pepper_. She can’t have betrayed me. She just can’t have.”

“Toni,” Bucky repeats.

“Don’t, just _don’t_. I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to say this is just like Obie. You’re wrong. It’s not. This is me being smart about this. I can’t see any logical reason why she would betray me like this. And in any case, this isn’t my signature. Why would she confirm that if she was part of this, huh? Wouldn’t it have just been easier to say, _no, Toni, don’t you remember, you signed this four months ago?_ ”

Natasha makes a face. “She might have a point,” she admits, grudgingly.

“Maybe we should move on,” Sam offers, trying to play the mediator. “What can we do with this receipt?”

“I have a timestamp and a computer terminal location for when it was logged into the system. So, basically, the invoice triggers a series of steps to be completed for the shipment to go out. So, there’s the invoice, and then, there’s the various deliveries, from warehouse to warehouse, and the confirmation from the final location, and if there’s a payment associated with the shipment, it’s logged on there too.”

“You mentioned a computer terminal location,” Bucky muses. “How do Stark Industries’ employees access the computer terminal? Do they each have different logins?”

Toni nods. “They do.”

“Can you use the location of the computer terminal used to log the invoice in to find out who was logged in at that time?”

“Yes, we can,” she says, her eyes fixed on the computer screen, as her typing becomes fervent.

Finally, she leans back, almost satisfied, if her face hadn’t hardened into a mask of black rage.

“At this particular timestamp where the invoice was logged into the system, the login credentials of the employee who was at this particular computer terminal was Samantha Carlisle.”

“Do you know this woman, Antonia?” Thor asks, curiously.

Toni’s eyes drag to the tall, Viking-esque man. “Stark Industries employees something like almost two million people worldwide. Do you really think I know all of them?” she asks, patiently.

Thor frowns. “No, I would imagine not. But does this woman not work within your headquarters in Manhattan?”

“She’s a Junior Project Manager in the Logistics Division, so, yes. But the Manhattan headquarters is still the base for the thousands of people. Okay, so, I’m going to track her movements after. Stark Industries provides employees in the Logistics Division with work phones. I can see what she was doing with it, before and after she logged the invoice.” Toni peers at the records. “ _Fuck_ ,” she says, heavily.

“What? What is it?”

“It would seem that she used the phone to make a number of phone calls with Kearson DeWitt and Victoria Snow, Head of Inventory Management.”

“Kearson DeWitt, that’s the guy that tried to-”

“Blow me up in my office,” Toni finishes. “Yep.”

“So, can we pretty much categorically say that she’s evil?” Bucky offers.

“Yeah, I think so,” Toni says, flatly. “Okay, I’m going to check their emails.”

She runs her eyes over the messages that pop up on the screen.

“Okay, so, we have a number of emails regarding a shipping employee in the Van Nuys warehouse.”

Steve narrows his eyes. “This guy could be how they’re able to send out the shipments to unauthorised locations,” he points out.

Toni worries her teeth on her lower lip. “I’m going to check out his shipping logs and manifests,” she says, after a moment.

She falls silent for a minute or two.

And then, she takes a deep, steadying breath.

“What? What is it?” Steve asks, gently, laying a hand on her shoulder.

“It looks like this guy, whoever he is, was responsible for a number of shipments that do not reconcile with the authorised shipments that were actually registered in the Stark Industries database. Their identification numbers either don’t exist at all or nonsensically refer to shipments of entirely different products that were made decades ago. So, yeah, it’s suspicious to say the least, the fucking _asshole_.” She drags her hand over her face, the tension clear in the tilt of her shoulder blades. “Okay, so we have an ex-employee who blames me for his life going down the drain even though he was totally one lab accident away from becoming a super villain; we have a project manager that may or may not be a pawn; we have a head of inventory management that is likely paving the way to make these shipments go ahead, and we have a shipping employee that is actually pushing these weapons out the door and into the hands of actual fucking terrorists. Who do we blame?”

“It’s very unlikely that they’re your only suspects,” Natasha points out.

Toni turns to her, curiously. “Excuse me?”

“Well, you’ve got a shipping employee, a junior project manager, Head of Inventory Management and an ex-employee. They’re all pretty low on the totem pole, except for the Head of Inventory, but is she really brave enough to come up with this on her own? Out of the blue? Someone higher is in on this. Someone, who would have promised them that they’d protect them if the shit hit the fan. Who would have that power?”

“Uh, anyone in management?” Toni offers. “It’s a long list.”

“I mean, I have one idea, but you’re not gonna like it,” Bucky mutters.

“Can you not start, please?” Toni demands.

“I’m just saying,” Bucky says, defensively. “He’s prime real estate where treason is concerned.”

“You think that not only is my godfather trying to _kill_ me, but he’s also orchestrated black-market arms’ dealing of my weapons?” Toni asks, gaping in disbelief.

“If the shoe fits,” Bucky says, shrugging his shoulders.

“It’s not him,” she stresses.

“Fine, I’m curious now, we have two issues here, right? We have supposed black-market arms’ dealing, and we have a group of angry ex-employees trying to _kill_ you. Now, let’s just say for argument’s sake that these two issues are actually connected; who would be the perfect leader for this coup?”

“Obadiah Stane,” everyone but for Toni intones.

Toni scowls hard.

“Before, when we were sparring, you said that you were planning on shutting down weapons’ production. Who did you tell about that?” Bucky asks, curiously.

Toni worries her teeth on her lower lip. “No one,” she says, after a moment. “Except for Obie.”

Bucky leans forward. “Is it at all possible that Stane decided that you were about to up-end decades of predetermined Stark Industries’ values and business models and so, he decided that the only way to stop any changes that you would make and stop you from finding out what he’s doing with the weapons-”

“We haven’t yet established that he’s doing _anything_ with the weapons,” Toni interjects.

“Is it all possible that he got scared that you would find about everything with the weapons and decide to kill you for it?” Bucky finishes, sternly.

“No, because it’s _not_ Obie,” she says, vehemently.

“Fine, anyone else. Anyone else, who might have thought you’d find about the weapons, that you were going to change something that happily and considerably lines their pockets, and decided that they were going to kill you for it?”

Toni tangles her fingers together, dragging her teeth over her lower lip. “Greed can be a powerful motivator, especially in my world,” she whispers.

“Toni,” Bucky says, sympathetically, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Toni, is it possible that Stane could be behind this? Could you find out? Could you look at his emails, see if there’s been any correspondence between him and any of those four people?”

Toni blinks hard, wishing the tears away. “I suppose I can look,” she says, heavily, as if her body is an actual graveyard.

She turns back to the computer and starts typing. Just before she gets to the last key that she can tap that would give her access to Obadiah’s email account, she halts, taking a deep breath.

“Toni,” Steve says, softly. “Honey?”

“If I do this, if I look into him like this, then I’m agreeing with you, a part of me is believing that he’s capable of this,” she says, dully. “Capable of murdering me and illegally trafficking weapons and treason against this country. He could… he could go to jail for a real long time for all of this shit. But worst of all, it means a part of me believes that he’s capable of killing _me_ , his goddaughter, a girl that looked at him and called him Uncle Obie and _loved_ him like she could never love her own father, and if he… if he _is_ capable of it, then, I never mattered to him, he never loved me, he was just using me this whole fucking time, and he made me _stupid_ ,” she says, venomously, with her voice cracking at certain edges. “How do I… how do I deal with that? How do I _recover_ from that?”

Natasha leans down, over the back of the couch, and wraps her arms around Toni’s shoulders, holding her fast there, so that she can rest her chin on Toni’s shoulder.

“We’ll do it together, and if he is that kind of asshole, if he is trying to hurt you, we won’t let him,” she says, fiercely.

Toni takes a deep, shuddering breath, her heart rattling in her ribcage. “Okay,” she whispers.

She presses her finger against the key, and Obadiah’s email account blooms into view.

It takes her a barely a minute, but she finds email correspondence between Obadiah and Victoria Snow, referencing a shipment out of the Van Nuys warehouse – without the earlier evidence of the invoice, it would have been a seemingly innocuous email, one that wouldn’t have raised any alarm bells.

Now, her gut drops with the horrifying realisation, and she stands, closing the laptop abruptly.

She stares down at Steve and Bucky, a bleak, hard look in her eyes.

“Guess you were right, after all,” she says, thin and taut.

“Toni,” Bucky says, reaching for her.

“Toni!”

Toni turns around at the frightened sound of her voice in time to see Clint rushing through the door.

“You said that Peter was taking a nap in your bedroom, right?” he asks, panting, hands on his thighs.

The dread in her belly goes heavy. “Yeah,” she says, with an unsure tongue. “He was there just before I went to the training room.”

“He’s not there anymore,” Clint says, hurriedly.

The fear is sharp, and her heart leaps into her throat. “What?” she demands.

“He wasn’t in your room when I went up there. I’ve looked everywhere. I can’t find him,” Clint tells her, cringing.

“What?” Toni asks again, her voice going high. “Where is he? Where is he, Clint? _Where is he_?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” he says, desperately.

“But I don’t understand. He was in the bed, he was… he was sleeping there. It was only, what, an hour or two ago. It was only… how… I mean, we were all here, in the house. He’s only four. Where could he have gone without any of us seeing him?” she asks, desperately, her eyes already starting to swim.

“Toni, Toni,” Steve tries to touch her, but she bats his hand away.

“I have to… I have to go and find him,” she says, quickly, the fear swelling up inside her like a bruise. “I have to go and find him.”

She’s stumbling forwards, and then, she’s running. She’s running and she’s calling out for him and she’s searching every single room, every single nook and cranny, every single alcove, panic plastered across her face, her heart and her lungs in her throat, barely able to claw back the tears from her eyes.

“Peter? Peter!” she’s screaming, her breath hitched in a sob.

And then, she comes into contact with a hard, firm body. When she looks up, she realises it was Bucky she collided with.

“Did you find him?” she asks, hopefully.

Bucky shakes his head, solemn as the grave.

“Oh, my God,” she whispers and collapses against his chest in a fit of hair. “Oh, my God. _Oh, my God._ ”

Her throat is all swollen up, but the bile still manages to get through, sour and bitter.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, we’ll find him,” he soothes, smoothing back her hair in a show of comfort. “He can’t have gone far. He must just be exploring.”

 _Please_ , she sends a prayer upward. _Please, just let him be exploring. Please let me find him. I’ll never let him out of my sight again. I’ll never… I’ll never touch Steve or Bucky again. I know, I know it was my fault. I know I should have stayed with him. I know I got distracted, let myself get swept up in my own selfish desires. I should have stayed with him. Give him back to me, and I’ll never leave him again. Please, please._

“Did you find him?” she hears Steve’s voice from behind her, as the blood roars in her ears.

“No, we didn’t. You?”

“Nothing.”

“Sam, Thor, Tasha, Clint?”

“Nothing either,” Steve says, heavily.

A high, grating whine escapes her.

Her phone buzzes, and she pulls away from Bucky, reaching into the pocket of her jeans and fishing it out. A message from an unknown number flickers across the lock screen, and she swipes it open, and she cries out, almost instinctively, at the picture that flashes across the screen.

It’s Peter, and his eyes are full of tears, and he’s sitting on a chair. And in the centre of the frame, presumably from the person who’s taking the photo, is a hand clutching at a gun, the barrel of which is aimed straight at Peter.

“No, no, no,” she whispers, her voice sharp around the edges of the syllables.

“Toni, Toni, what is it?” Bucky asks, worriedly.

She shoves the phone into his hand, and he looks at it, his face changing into a fierce echo of concern.

“What is it? What’s going on?” Steve asks, confused.

“It’s Peter…” Bucky says, haltingly, as the fear mounts in Toni. “Someone has him. They’ve… they’ve got a gun pointed at him.”

Toni immediately doubles over and empties her stomach all over the floor.

Steve grasps her by the waist, pulling her into her side, as Toni starts to shake.

“There’s a text from the same number,” Bucky says, after a moment.

The words cut through the haze of Toni’s grief and anxiety, and she turns to him, soundlessly asking for her phone back. Bucky hesitates only for a moment before he hands it over.

 _Come to Clinton Wharf, by Pier 12, by six, or I will shoot your son_.

“I have to go,” she says, immediately.

The others gather in the same hallway.

“Toni,” Steve sighs.

Toni scowls hard. “Don’t _Toni_ me. I have to go-”

“You don’t even know what you’d be walking into-”

“They haves my son,” Toni says, her voice and words a death knell. “They have my son, and they have a gun pointed at him, and I can’t take the chance that they’re bluffing. What time is it?”

“Five,” Clint replies.

“So, I have an hour.”

“You’re not going,” Bucky says, coldly.

“What did you just say to me?” Toni asks, her words like acid.

“I said, you’re not going, not when you’re like this, just reacting because you’re scared. We have to think this through. We have to plan it out-”

“We have an _hour_ ,” she snarls. “What fucking plan are you going to come up with before whoever this person decides to _shoot_ my infant son?”

“We can’t just go running-”

“You might not be able to,” she says, heavily. “But I sure as hell can. This message came to me, about _my_ son. So, the only one who gets to make a decision here is _me_ , and I’ve made my decision.” She pauses. “Don’t worry, I’m not expecting you to come with me-”

“Of course we’re coming with you,” Steve says, derisively. “You think we’d let you walk into this alone? We just want to do things smart.”

“Peter doesn’t have time for smart,” she protests.

“Toni, Toni, let us take care of this,” Bucky insists.

Toni shakes her head. “He needs me. I can’t just… I _won’t_. He needs me,” she says, desperately.

It’s like every one of her worst nightmares, her most terrifying thoughts coming to life, and it washes her with ice, opening up a pit underneath her, ready for her to fall through. The only way that this could be made worse in any way is if it were Ty holding that gun at Peter.

“Just, please, calm down,” Bucky soothes, his hands falling onto her shoulders. “We won’t be able to do anything for Peter if we don’t just talk this through. Now, if we go there just like the message asks, we’d be running into a trap. We don’t know how many people there are with Peter, or whether this guy is bluffing-”

“If you expect me to put my son’s life at risk because you think this person might be bluffing-” Toni begins, hotly.

“No, we’re just…” Bucky sighs. “Come on. Let’s talk about this.”

He draws her, with his arm around her shoulders, into a sitting room so that they can all sit down.

“Now, I know that warehouse. My guys work out of that area,” Bucky says, staring at the telephone. “I’ll let them know to get out there and keep an eye out, do some reconnaissance and see if Peter is actually there.”

He taps something insistently across his phone and lays it in his lap.

“Once we have confirmation that Peter’s actually there and this isn’t just some elaborate fake-out to get their hands on Toni, we can leave. We have plenty of ammunition and skill between the six of us to take on at least ten to fifteen guys, but anything more, and we’re going to need back-up from the crew,” Bucky goes on.

“I sent word to my guys,” Steve says, quickly. “They’re standing at attention, waiting until I give the signal.”

“We could blow up the warehouse,” Clint offers.

Toni makes a soft, high noise of protest.

“After we clear the warehouse of Peter, of course,” Clint hastens to add. “But we have enough explosives in the safehouse right now, to do that. And guys, between all of us, the only one who has enough skill to sneak in and out with Peter is probably Natasha or Bucky. Steve’s… not exactly made for stealth; neither is Sam or Thor, and I’d be the one setting off the explosives. So, it’s got to be Natasha or Bucky.”

“If we need back-up, it can’t be Bucky. The crew doesn’t listen to me,” Natasha says, with vociferous disdain for what Toni assumes is the misogyny permeating the Russian mob in this part of town. “So, it has to be me.”

“And what about me?” Toni demands, her voice slightly shrill.

The six exchange odd, awkward looks.

“Toni,” Steve begins, softly. “Toni, maybe it’s a good idea that you stay here.”

“What?” Toni asks, with a flat certainty to her voice.

“Toni, right now, we need to be very careful and clever with how we approach this, and you’re, understandably, emotional because it’s your son that’s trapped somewhere and in danger-”

“-which is the reason why I should be there, because it’s _my_ son,” Toni interjects. “And fuck off. Are you seriously calling me emotional?”

“We don’t mean it in a bad way-”

“When a man calls a woman emotional, he is never meaning it in a good way,” she says, coldly. “And you’re damn right, I’m emotional. My son has a gun pointed at him right now, so I’m absolutely emotional. But that doesn’t, in any way, make me weak or incompetent. It just makes a giant ball of nerves desperate to get my son back, because he must be very scared and desperate and wanting me. So, let me be very clear, I get that you all are very terrifying mob people, and not the Fat Tony type of mob people, but this is my son, and nothing is happening here unless I give the okay. I’m going to get him back. That is non-negotiable. You’re free to work around that, but I’m going to that fucking warehouse.”

Steve and Bucky look at each other, and an entire conversation passes between them without words.

Toni hates that.

And then, Steve stands up. “Okay, we’re leaving.”

All six mobsters flee from the room, and before Toni even knows what’s happening, the door is closing on her and a slick little click is resounding through the door, and a horrifying realisation is dawning on her.

She’s rushing at the door, trying the doorknob, and it doesn’t move an inch.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she snarls. She bangs on the door with her fists. “Did you seriously lock me in here, you douchebags?”

“It’s for your own good,” Steve tells her, his voice muffled by the door.

“Fuck you!” Toni snaps. “I’m going to remove your insides through your throat, you ass.”

“You keep screaming at us, doll. We ain’t letting you out,” Bucky drawls.

“I hate you,” she seethes.

“No, you don’t, and you’ll thank us for this, I promise.”

And then, she hears the footsteps receding on the other side of the door, and she closes her eyes, resisting the urge to scream, her nails digging half-moon marks into her palm.

Instead, she kicks at the door in thin fury and cringes, clutching at her foot, her hands stinging and running with thin lines of red, where her nails have broken through the skin.

She looks around the room, trying to find something hard and heavy enough that would break through the door, and then, she sees the window.

An idea sparks.

She pads over.

It’s an old window, with crown moulding. The latches are made of old gold, rusted over, and when she twists the latch, it gives away, and she’s able to push the window right until the top. It’s night outside, and the chill seeps through the open window into the room. She leans out of it, her hips resting on the window’s edge, peering out into the night.

The safehouse, as it is, is completely deserted, in the middle of a large lawn, surrounded by trees, a veritable forest. The room that she’s in is on the second floor, and the house itself is old, because there’s a second layer of the roof just below her.

She eyes the closed door for a moment.

 _I’m sorry, I have to get him back_ , she thinks and climbs out of the window, her feet landing on the roof tiles.


	19. xix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: violence against a woman, a LOT of racism, racist language, slurs directed towards South Asian and Middle Eastern people, brief anti-semitism, brief sexual assault in the form of non-consensual groping, misogyny, sexual harassment, gendered slurs.
> 
> Seriously, pay attention to the warnings.

The roof tiles beneath her feet are slippery and ridged, and God, it’s terrifying, because she thinks she might actually trip and fall and roll off the entire building and crack her skull or break her neck on the ground below. But somehow, she manages to make it to the gutter, swinging her legs over the edge.

It’s a steep drop, still, even if it’s only a single floor, but thankfully, she’ll fall onto grass.

So, she jumps, thinking of Peter. She lands on the grass, slamming painfully against the hard earth, gasping breathlessly and pained. She curls into a ball, just for a moment, just catching her breath, willing air back into her lungs, and then, she climbs back to her feet, watching the house carefully for any signs of life that might see her.

She runs around to the other side, peeking around the corner of the house to see if there’s anyone at the entrance to the house.

The porch is completely empty.

Toni sneaks forward, padding on the edge of her feet so that she doesn’t make much noise.

There are a few cars parked out the front, and she picks an old, inconspicuous Acura NSX. She pulls a bobby pin out of her hair, unlocking the driver’s seat and crawling inside. She uses the same bobby pin to remove the plastic covering on the steering column, so that she can find the wiring harness connector. She pulls aside the battery, ignition and starter wire bundle. She grabs the wire bundle and connects them, and suddenly, the ignition comes to life.

“Yes,” she hisses. “Still fucking got it, don’t I?”

She puts the car into drive, and suddenly, she’s speeding away from the safehouse, sending up a prayer up to the sky.

* * *

Half an hour later, with minimal traffic, she’s parking the stolen car in front of the warehouse by Pier 12 and stepping out into the cool, night air, goosebumps rushing across her skin.

“Okay, be brave, Peter needs me,” Toni mutters to herself, her face hardening into an angry mask, as she storms over to the door of the warehouse.

She tries her hands on the door, and it gives away under her palms.

It’s dark inside the warehouse, and she feels like she’s just milling about in the dark. She fishes her hand in her jeans pocket for her phone, and she’s opening up the back. Her nail pries out one of the logic integrated circuits, placing it lightly on the floor, in the grout of the floor. She quickly covers the back of the phone and continues forward into the warehouse.

“Hello?” she calls out, her heart beating like a jackhammer in her ribcage.

A broad, dry palm surrounds her mouth, and an arm clamps around her body like a vice.

She struggles, almost instinctively, against the hard body that presses up against the back side of her, from head to toe. The man hushes her.

“Don’t fight, or I’ll gut you like a fucking pig,” he whispers in her ear.

Toni lets her body turn completely lax.

“Aren’t you a good girl?” the man coos, swaying her back and forth like she’s a doll. “But this is just the first stop for us.”

And then, something hard comes down on her head, and she sees black.

* * *

She awakens to a harsh slap across her face, and she blinks rapidly, peering up at the pale, blurry face that looms into her view. She’s sitting on a chair, with an unpleasant stretch in the line of her shoulders, as she slowly becomes aware of the fact that her arms are tied behind her back.

She squints, trying to get a sharper image of the guy in front of her, and cold, gaping dread opens in the pit of her stomach, a dull ache not fully forming in her chest, beneath her breast.

“Hi, Toni,” Obadiah replies, not unkindly.

Toni tilts her head back and spits right in his face.

Obadiah’s face sharpens in fury so quickly that it actually physically hurts Toni, like a blow to her stomach, to see all of that bitter, seething hatred plastered across the face of a man who used to ruffle her hair and give her candy on Deepavali. He pulls his hand back, swinging hard and backhanding her across her face, twisting her head to the side.

“You miserable son of a bitch,” she hisses, baring the razor line of her teeth. “You piece of shit. I’m going to kill you. I’m going to rip your _lungs_ out. Where the fuck is my son?”

Obadiah sighs, and then, there’s a chair, in front of her, that he takes a seat in, all of that baby boomer etiquette that she would have expected from him.

“Don’t worry about Peter, he’s fine,” Obadiah says, reassuringly.

“I don’t trust anything that you say,” Toni says, flatly, desperately trying to cover up the wild flutter in her chest. “You’re a fucking liar.”

“Toni,” Obadiah says, softly. “I understand that you must be angry.”

“Are you trying to have me killed?” Toni asks, bluntly.

“Excuse me?” Obadiah asks.

“DeWitt, when he tried to turn me into a shish-kebab in my office, he defected from the little anti-Toni group you’d formed to off me, right? Jumped the timeline a bit?” she asks, her voice thin and taut.

“It’s not what you think.”

“Oh, I think that it’s exactly what I think.”

“Okay, fine, it’s exactly what you think,” Obadiah says, bored. “Yes, I was the one that formed the group trying to kill you. I imagine those delinquent boy toys of yours told you that.”

Toni is sick with anger and hurt. “Something like that.”

Obadiah shakes his head, disgusted. “DeWitt. He fucked everything up. He couldn’t deal with going slow and steady. No, he just kept stewing and stewing and thinking about you, and then, he just couldn’t take it anymore, and so he went after you. And failed. You know, I wouldn’t have been angry if he’d succeeded. It would’ve been the perfect story. Angry ex-employee with access to serious ammunition and explosives and the skill behind it, who goes after the boss that fired him and led to his messy divorce and him losing custody of his kids and made him fall into a bottle and not crawl out. The police, the FBI wouldn’t have looked any further. But the moron failed, and now, the rest of us are up for grabs.”

“You’re disgusting,” Toni declares.

A shadow crosses his face. “Of course, there are plenty of others,” he says, easily. “You have this way of… fucking with people, getting on their bad side, and then, because you don’t know how to keep your mouth shut, they start to really fucking hate you, like enough to want to kill you. It’s funny, actually. I wonder what it is about you,” he muses. He chuckles. “I suppose there’s a pretty obvious reason, isn’t there?”

He gestures broadly to her, and her skin heats up, knowing that he’s making reference to either one or both of two things: the fact that she has a cunt, or the fact that she’s an Indian.

“I guess I should know, otherwise, I wouldn’t have helped get the team together. They’re really gunning for this. I promised that it would end up in flames, and there would be a lot of blood.”

Toni swallows down the bile that rises in her throat in response to the hungry, haunted look in his eyes.

“So, it was you, this whole time, you and your little revenge group, buying up parts for some heavy artillery, bombs and stuff, downtown,” she says, quickly.

Obadiah nods. “We were getting some headway, until your boys started blocking our supply with the black-market stuff. But it _is_ New York, and there are small-time gangsters, and arms dealing is very popular. And then, your boy toys started keeping an eye on you, came running straight out of the woodwork to cover your ass, and I started doubting whether my little team would be able to get anywhere near you while they were protecting you.”

_Oh, my God, I really have to fucking apologise to them, don’t I?_

“I started thinking that maybe it would have to be me, you know,” Obadiah goes on, as if he doesn’t really care if she’s paying attention to his recollection. “And it would have been easy, of course, because you’re so dumb, Toni,” he says, derisively. “You’re such a dumb fucking bitch-”

Toni flinches, her face crumpling.

“You’re so quick to trust anyone who shows you just a little bit of fucking love, aren’t you? If I’d come to you and asked you to spread your legs for me, you’d have done it, gotten on a bed, or let me have you on the fucking floor, and happily taken my dick in you with a smile, if it meant keeping me,” he says, casually. “So, you know, if it had come down to me, and I had to be the one to kill you, well, honey, you’d have let me shoot you in the head, because you’re weak, dumb _bitch_.”

The colour leaches out of her face, as she stares at him, each word of his like a separate fist to her ribs.

“And the weapons in Gulmira, all of those strange shipments,” she says, dully. “That was you as well, wasn’t it? You’ve been selling my weapons under the table to fucking terrorists, haven’t you?”

Obadiah just smiles at her, selfish and mean.

“Why?” she grinds out. “ _Why_?” she demands, her face hollowed out.

Obadiah shrugs. “Do you have any idea what it was like to work for you and that idiot fuck that you called a father?” he asks, past the harsh tilt of his mouth.

Toni inhales.

“I started off as the butter and egg man, you know what that is?”

Toni remains stubbornly silent.

“I was the suave charmer. Oh, your father was good with the women, of course, could get them on their back with their legs in the air faster than anything I’ve ever seen before. All he had to do was flash them those green eyes of his, and they were dropping their panties for him-”

Toni scrunches up her face in disgust.

“But the men, God, they hated him. They didn’t like his colour; they didn’t like the fact that he was a fucking camel jockey-”

Toni growls low in his throat at the slur.

“They didn’t like that he was a Jew; they didn’t like how he talked, ‘cause he, like you, didn’t fucking belong, and they all knew it-”

Toni looks away, not appreciating the comparison between her and her father.

“But he was good, he was smart, he had _new_ ideas, he was going to change the world, but he needed someone like me, a white guy, to get him through the doors. And so I agreed, I _wanted_ to be involved, I wanted to be on the side of the something new, the things that were going to change the world,” Obadiah says, a sheen of nostalgia covering his eyes.

It’s in this moment that Toni sees a shade of the Obadiah Stane that she’d known her entire life, the Obadiah Stane that had held her at her parents’ funeral and used to chase her own around the mansion when she was a little girl, pretending to be a monster.

“I wanted to be part of a fucking revolution, but there was an understanding. There was a fucking understanding,” he says, his voice curdling and turning into a bark, loud and rumbling. “One day, _one fucking day_ , it was going to be my turn.”

Toni’s eyes dawn with realisation.

“I wasn’t just the money guy, the fucking procurer, the guy that made the fucking deals and let someone else reap the benefits of something they could never do. No, it was going to be _my_ day, and Howard was going to give it to me, because I’d earned it, Toni. I’d fucking _earned_ it.”

“Bullshit,” Toni spits.

“You don’t believe me?” Obadiah asks, innocently. “Do you have any idea what I had to put up with in your fucking _diseased_ family? Howard, with his fucking drinking and falling over on his fucking face and his inability to talk to another human being with the slightest fake interest, and Maria, with her fucking depression and pills, and you know what, she could have changed her name all she liked, but you never forgot that she was fresh off the fucking boat-”

“ _Don’t_ talk about my mother,” Toni says, with a dangerous edge to her voice.

Obadiah ignores her. “And she passed that bullshit onto you, as well, and you couldn’t even be as smart as your father was, play the game, pretend, make yourself look like you belonged. You couldn’t fucking belong, even if you tried,” he says, sharp and sick. “You, you stupid cunt, with your inability to stay away from guys who treat you like shit and who hit you and the way you look down at people like you’re fucking better than them and your selfish belief that your God’s fucking gift to this planet and your Feminazi, anti-racist bullshit and the fact that you were too fucking _soft_ to do what you needed to do and _you_ , Toni, you _ruin_ things. You turn them to shit. You’re like a fucking disease, and I had to put up with you all of these years, and what, did you think I was just going to walk away after you set fire to my entire fucking life without a fucking fight?”

“You’re the disease,” Toni snarls.

Obadiah’s big, meaty hand closes around her throat and squeezes with just enough strength to make Toni’s eyes widen.

“I put up with so much from you people,” he says, disgusted. “So much fucking dysfunction, but it was okay, it was supposed to be _okay_ , because one day, _one day_ , Howard was going to come to his fucking senses and realise, just like I had, that he was a shit CEO, a shit husband, a shit father, shit _everything_ , and probably only half-decent in a fucking workshop and he was going to _step_ aside.”

“And instead he gave it to me,” Toni says, belligerently, her voice coming out raspy due to the hand on her throat.

“Instead he gave it to _you_ ,” Obadiah repeats, shaking his head, mutinous. “ _You_. You didn’t have the sense that your father should have had, _either_. You should have realised that you weren’t capable of running Stark Industries, Toni, that you weren’t made to be the fucking _thug_ that a company like that deserved. You’re a woman, a fucking _curry bitch_. It didn’t belong to you. It shouldn’t have belonged to you. You didn’t deserve it. You were soft, and you should have realised that. You didn’t belong in that crowd, and everyone knew it. You didn’t fucking deserve it, and you should have _realised_ that. You should’ve just given it up to me, let me run things like I have always done. Instead, you never fucking stepped aside, did you? Six years have passed, and you didn’t step aside. You just held onto it all, didn’t you? The power, the money, with an iron fist, like you were fucking owed it or something, because Daddy didn’t love you and your husband liked to rough you up. You wouldn’t let go an inch, and you were so fucking entitled, because you knew, you _knew_ you didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve anything that you had, knew you were keeping it from someone who was worthier than you were, someone that you and your father had shafted somewhere along the line-”

_Some white girl, some white boy, yeah, I’ve heard this shit before._

“And so, I decided that if you weren’t going to let go on your own, I’d make you let go.”

“By killing me,” Toni says, flatly.

Obadiah shrugs. “It would have been easy,” he explains. “Like I said, you trust too easily, baby girl. Now, I have to say, killing you wasn’t actually my first option.”

“Wow, that changes my feelings on everything,” Toni says, sarcastically.

“I was just going to ruin you, make it impossible for you to go on as the CEO. I thought about planting some idiot airhead at a bar for you to take home and get a tape of you letting him fuck you in the ass with coke smeared all over your nose. That would’ve done you in for sure. CPS would’ve come around and taken the kid, and you’d have never seen him again. You’d have gone to rehab, sure, but there’s no fucking way the board would have let you stay on as CEO. I didn’t go ahead with it for some reason,” he says, frowning like he doesn’t quite know to define it himself. “And then, I thought that husband of yours would kill you one day and it would all be over, just like that, but he ended up kicking the bucket too. But there was going to be _something_ , some way that the board would lose confidence with you or decide that you weren’t the sort of person they wanted representing the company, and they’d get rid of you, because if you were a white girl, you might have come out of it, but there was no fucking way that they, _society_ , would have let you, a fucking curry muncher, survive after all that shit. And then, they’d ask me to take over. That was going to be it, my great rise, the world order set to rights, instead of always being under you foreign cunts, but you, your fucking family, you ruined everything,” he says the words like acid.

The pain rips across her chest, and she swallows past it.

“I decided that enough was enough when you came to me and you told me that you wanted to stop making weapons, that you wanted to make fucking baby bottles instead, wanting to have a legacy that wasn’t all just blood and death, because you got all sad over those fucking animals in their deserts who had the fucking audacity to come to _our_ country and attack _us_ when we were just showing them fucking civilisation, because your ovaries were controlling you instead of your fucking brain. Did you think we kept you as the CEO because you were so important? You weren’t CEO because you were the best person for the fucking job; you were CEO because you were good with a fucking screwdriver, and that has always been the only fucking virtue to your entire existence. What, did you think we _liked_ you?” he chortles. “You and your father, you’re exactly the same; you think the universe is dying to make you come.”

Toni’s face contorts with disgust.

“You want everyone else to do the work for you, but you alone reap the benefits, while we crawl in the muck, waiting for the scraps you deign to give us. You didn’t fucking deserve it. The gall of you, for fuck’s sake, a fucking _coolie_ thinking themselves above me, above us.” He leans forward, so that Toni can see the shine of his teeth, smell his pungent cologne. “Do you know that your father did shit all for SI?”

Toni stirs at that.

“All he did was spend his days in his goddamn workshop making mediocre shit and pretended like he was God’s gift to fucking science,” he growls. “And you, sure, you were better than him, smarter than him, more competent than him, and you made things that actually fucking revolutionised the world, sure, but you were a wild card, you know, right from the beginning. You never fell in line. The first disappointment was that you were a girl.” He shakes his head. “Howard called me up from the hospital, told me that Maria had given birth to a girl. You know, of all the women that Howard could have married, he settled for the fucking taxi driver’s daughter.”

Toni has the sudden urge to punch him in the face.

“And then, out of that marriage, a bunch of dead babies and a fucking _girl_ , a girl who looked like her mother, skin that looked like shit,” Obadiah says, shaking his head. “How the fuck could some bindi bitch be strong enough to run a fucking weapons’ manufacturing business?”

“I have run that company for almost a decade now,” Toni growls, her voice featherlight but laden with heavy warning.

“Yeah, you did, and sure, you were better than your father was at it, but you were such a fucking girl about it, so fucking ethnic, weren’t you? Can’t take the FOB out of the fuckup, can you?” Obadiah retorts. “You couldn’t even pretend to be like a man. You got married to that dilettante media prick, who beat the shit out of you. And yes, I knew he was beating you.”

Toni’s lungs momentarily stop functioning.

“I had the errant hope that maybe he would convince you to leave Stark Industries in the hands of better and bigger people, like _me_ , so you could focus on being a good wife, which is what you would have been if your father hadn’t gotten drunk and wrapped his car around the tree and maybe your mother had been capable of producing more than stillborns and a single girl, but no, you were fucking stubborn, weren’t you? And that idiot turned out to be even weaker than you were, kicking the bucket after a couple of years, and you returned to the company with a whole new lease on life. It made me sick.”

Toni flinches at the flat delivery, but at least she has her answer now – he never loved her, he was always faking it.

“And you even started breeding. He even _looked_ like you. Stone was a fucking shallow prick, but at least he looked the part, looked like he fucking belonged. I knew the second that you announced you were pregnant, we fucking lost you. You couldn’t be the big dog if you started fretting over the brat’s skinned knees and lunchboxes. That wasn’t the look we were going for to be a formidable arms’ dealer.” He shakes his head. “And you, you were going to ruin my life’s work, ruin everything that I’d done for this company, make every sacrifice, every scrap of time I’d given up for this company completely fucking useless. You think you can just waltz in and change what we do ‘cause you’re too soft to make it in the real world? It doesn’t fucking work like that. In real life, baby girl, people bite back. This is _me_ biting back. Did you think I’d let some jumped-up little Indian cunt ruin all the plans I made, because she was too much of a fucking soft touch, a fucking moron, to just sit back and let the _men_ handle things? You didn’t know your place, you were too _dumb_ to know it, and so, I had to teach it to you.”

His words twist a knife in her gut, burning and divisive.

“So, yeah, I sold under the table,” he says, cheerfully. “It was a great fucking pay day, you know, and gave us plenty of new clients to sell to. This is how we get by in the world, sweetheart, but you were always too much of a fucking idealistic moron to see it.”

He watches her with hungry eyes and reaches out, stroking a single finger down the side of her face.

“You were the last pin standing, and once you were gone, nothing was going to stand in my way,” he says, softly, and then, his face contorts. “But you’re still fucking here. You know, back then, I thought you’d drown yourself in booze or maybe get high one night and never wake up, depressive, weak little bitch that you are, especially after those two Brooklyn bastards left you like you were some two-dollar whore that they’d fucked until you were too loose for them to get off in. But you didn’t.”

Toni turns rigid with fury.

“You fucking Starks, though,” he snorts. “Both you and your dad, too much of fucking pussies to do what needs to be done, but still so fucking stubborn that you can’t die the way you’re supposed to. All you had to do was lay down and take it when DeWitt wanted to blow you up, but those bastards came in at the last minute and saved you, took you away so we couldn’t even make a second attempt. And after everything they did to you, Toni, what kind of insecure little cunt goes back running to two assholes who would beat the shit out of you for a couple of dollars?” he asks, disgusted.

“They’re not like that,” Toni says, defiance in the tilt of her chin.

Obadiah leans back in his chair, his expression shifting.

“So, they told you, huh?” he says, after a moment.

Toni goes cold on the inside.

“You did this, didn’t you? You did all of it. This was all orchestrated by you. You went to their house and you threatened them, and you organised for the fucking restraining order, didn’t you?”

Obadiah shrugs. “You would’ve dropped everything for them,” he says, gently. “You would’ve left MIT and Stark Industries and your family for them. You would’ve left being a fucking millionaire to become their fucking housewife and whore in some run-down walk-up in fucking Brooklyn, because, like I said, Toni, you are a dumb bitch who does anything and everything for just a bit of love. And with Howard being the idiot that he was, and _old_ , with a prominent drinking problem, who knows what Stark Industries would have been if you dropped all of it for _them_? So, I intervened. I fixed things. I got you away from them and on the path that you were always meant to be, and then, you started changing things, and so, I decided that it was time you were removed from the picture.”

“How did you even find out about them?” Toni demands, sick to her stomach. “I only told Rhodey and Jarvis.”

“Ah,” Obadiah says, satisfied. “Rumlow, you can come in now,” he calls out.

The door to the room opens, and a man steps in. He’s handsome enough, in the creepy, _I’m going to put roofies in your drink_ , kind of way, with dark hair in a fade style, and stubble across his jaw.

“Who the fuck is he?” she asks, flatly.

Rumlow folds his arms across his face. “What, you don’t remember me, Toni?”

Toni peers at him for a moment, before the realisation dawns. “You’re that jock guy from high school, the one that said that Natasha and I would be the perfect threesome before I knocked the tray into your junk,” she says, triumphantly.

Rumlow scowls and looks like he’s about to belt her one, before Obadiah interjects.

“Brock, here, has been on my payroll since high school,” he tells her. “He was going to go with the information of your little boyfriends to Howard for some cash, but I stepped in long before Howard ever heard about them. I didn’t like what I saw. I didn’t like that it looked like you were straying from your true calling, so I changed what I didn’t like. I went to Howard and I told him that I’d had a private investigator set on you, that the PI that I employed told me that these boys were hurting you and using you. Howard, you know, for all of his faults, he really did fucking love you, kid,” Obadiah muses.

It might have been better if he’d reached into her gut and ripped out her organs, one by one.

“He was so worried about you being hurt that he was going to have them killed,” Obadiah tells her, as if he thinks it’ll make her feel better, being faced with Howard’s arguably one good act as a father. “I said that I’d take care of it, and he gave up just like that. So, I went to your boys and I told them a very compelling story about how you came to your father and I in tears about how you were being abused and blackmailed, and Howard gave me these photos that he had after Stone had gone to town on you once before. Your boys were quaking in their boots before long, and I would’ve paid them off, but it didn’t have the dramatic edge that I was going for.”

“So, you went with the restraining order,” Toni says, dully.

Obadiah grins. “I went with the restraining order,” he agrees. “Judge ate it up like nothing else. You were the sweet little rich girl who fell in with the fucking scum of the earth, and before I knew what was happening, he was ordering the restraining order. You were totally broken-hearted because you thought they’d just fucked you and left you, and they didn’t want to talk to you because they were scared of the restraining order and because they thought you’d said all these lies about them. And then, it was like the universe was coming together properly, because you went back to your path, baby girl. You went back to your inventions and your weapons’ making and everything was going good.” His voice lowers, twists. “Until you decided to change everything.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she hisses.

“I spent most of my life making Stark Industries what it is today-”

“Bullshit,” Toni snarls, shaking down to her fingers and toes. “That was all _me_.”

Obadiah flushes blotchy pink.

“You and Howard, you got Stark Industries all the way to a fucking million-dollar company, sure, I’ll give you that; but _me_ , I got it to the billions. _I_ did that. _I_ did, not you, not my father, not anyone else, not some white asshole that you think deserves _my_ company and _my_ empire more than I do, and I’ll be damned if anyone takes credit for that but me, you arrogant, delusional, murdering bastard,” she says, with the sort of rage that makes her think that she could kill him with her bare hands. “You, you think that you’re something great; you think that you’re God’s gift to this fucking world, but I’ve known a thousand of you, Stane, and you’re all incompetent and inept and you think that the world _owes_ you because you were born white and with a cock. Well, guess what, no one owes you _shit_. You couldn’t _do_ the things that I’ve done; you couldn’t _be_ what I am. You’re not _good_ enough, Stane. You’re not fucking good enough. You, my father, Ty, all of you are the fucking same. You’re all pathetic and mediocre and you hurt people like me because you can’t deal with the fact that you’re pathetic and mediocre and you know that I’m neither of those things. You _know_ that I’m better than you, and you can’t take it, can you, you spineless, useless, weak bastard? Even if you killed me today, even if you took back Stark Industries the way think you’re owed it, you couldn’t do _shit_ with it. You couldn’t do the things that I’ve _done_. You’re not fucking _good_ enough, you lacklustre, unremarkable, second-rate, _inferior_ asshole-”

And then, he has his big, meaty hand, wrapped around her throat, tightening as if to show her exactly how much of his strength would be needed to choke her to death.

His eyes drag greedy-hot over the curve of her breasts, the nipples puckering in the cold air, and she cringes at the look in his eyes, her skin crawling quietly. Obadiah makes a soft noise, a large, blunt finger tracing the curve and pinching quickly at her nipple.

Rumlow watches with avid interest.

She wants to cut both of their cocks off and feed it to them for that alone.

“You know, it’s a shame it had to end like this, sweetheart,” he says, kindly, like he’s still her godfather and not the same bastard that has tried very hard to ruin her life and finally kill her. “I have wanted to get inside that hot little cunt of yours for so long, since you were sixteen and you’d flit around the mansion in those skimpy fucking bikinis and you’d bend over and show me whatever lace panties you were wearing that day and you’d hug me and rub those tits of yours against my chest, you fucking tease. God, your tits,” he says, approvingly, giving her breast a quick squeeze. “They’re fucking stupendous, always had been.”

Obadiah chuckles and withdraws his hand.

“Honestly, I was convincing myself that I had no other choice, that you messed with progress and that had to be remedied, but frankly, I’m going to enjoy this,” he tells her, his grin sharp, a lethal thing.

Toni’s fists clench hard, her nails digging deep into her palm, breaking open the since-healed cuts and letting blood rush down the heel of her hand, the image of her hands around his throat and pressing and pressing until his eyes bulge out of his head and his lungs stop working flashing behind the lids of her eyes.

She closes her eyes and rids herself of the betrayal, rids herself of the hurt, lets it wash from her body, and lets the hate sweep her up like a deluge. But what she hates more than anything else is the audacity that _this_ is the person that might be the actual end of her, above everything else that life has thrown at her.

Obadiah Stane, some miserable fucking white-privileged corporate scab, the sort that launders money and paws at unwilling secretaries and goes home to heave atop their wife, who drinks way too much wine, pops way too many pills, with the inch worms they call penises, and look down their nose at her, a god-damned brown woman who had the audacity to reach for too much and lay claim to something they aren’t worthy of, according to them, and _he’s_ the one that gets to kill her.

It’s fucking insulting, that’s what it is.

If she’s going to die, it should be epic; it should be beautiful and tragic and demanding and historic.

She should go out in wildfire and burn up all of her enemies along with her. 

_This_ , this is disgusting; this is her dying because of her own stupidity, because she’d allowed a man like this to make her stupid; no, no, she’s not allowed to fucking die here, not at his hand; she can’t die here until she’s had the opportunity to pull Stane’s lungs out through his throat.


	20. xx.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: violence against a woman, racism, racist language, slurs directed towards brown people, brief sexual assault in the form of non-consensual groping, misogyny, sexual harassment, gendered slurs.

“You are beautiful,” Obadiah finally comments. “I suppose that you do have that going for you. Sometimes, I had this fantasy that you’d realise that you needed someone to take care of you, that you needed a man in your life that could actually get shit done, not like some weak little shit like Tiberius Stone was. You were supposed to look over and see _me_ , realise that I could that treat you the way you deserved to be treated, that girls like you, the fiery ones that think men are beneath them, the ones that need a firm hand, the ones that need to be brought out of that mindset, you know, the one where they’re still the fucking victim. I would’ve taken care of you; I would’ve been good to you.”

“You’re old and fat and not my type at all,” Toni says, baring her teeth at him in a razor line. “I bet you chug Viagra like it’s fucking Tic Tacs just so that you can fuck your go-to hooker that smiles and tells you that you’re best she’s ever had. In case you hadn’t realised it yet, she’s _lying_ ,” she sings.

The fat blow across her face doesn’t take her by surprise, with the hundreds of times that she’s been hit in the exact same way but tears still edge at her eyes at the terrible, red-hot sting across one entire side of her face.

“I could have made you _something_ ,” he tells her, coldly. “I could have given you a civilised life, one that you couldn’t have possibly had just by virtue of whom your mother was. Any kid that we’d had together wouldn’t have been as fucking girly as the brat you’ve got now-”

Toni struggles against her bonds, the black rage burning hot in her chest.

“You could’ve been on my arm, a fine, upstanding, proper-looking gentleman, but no, you always go to the fucking pretty boy that treats you like shit, don’t you? What a sad fucking moron you are, Toni.”

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face.

“It was supposed to simple, _it was supposed to be fucking simple_ ; I was owed that _fucking_ company. All those years I spent scraping and swindling and charming and making sure your dear old dad didn’t drink himself and the company to death and you didn’t put us out on the streets because you couldn’t keep your legs closed or couldn’t make the hard decisions. I have put my life, my sweat, my blood, everything I had into Stark Industries, and you and your old man, you shafted me. You fucking shafted me by delegating me your fucking _underling_ , and then, having the nerve to come to me years later to tell me that you can’t do it anymore, that you can’t face up to the business that this company’s been doing since before you were _born_ , that you suddenly became some hippie anti-American imperialism cunt declaring that _we’re not going to make weapons anymore because people die and that’s bad_ , that you’re going to empty out my fucking bank account because you’re too fucking spineless-”

“Oh, give me a fucking break,” Toni says, sourly. “I am not here to soothe your fucking baby boomer, _I hate anyone and everyone that doesn’t look like a fucking milk bottle_ ego. You wouldn’t have lost a cent and you know it, you miserable bastard. You were _scared_ ,” she says, her eyes bright and full of venom. “You were scared, because in reality, all you fucking are is a money-grubbing, greedy bastard who sleeps best at night with his foot poised on someone else’s throat, and God, what would you be without _that_ , huh? You know the world is turning, right? That it’s now a _bad_ thing to be like you. That most of the entire fucking world is _shunning_ men like you. They are trying their hardest to be something _other_ than you. The only fucking allies that you have are the men who are just like you, who throw women in a ditch when you’re done with them, who say shit like _all Mexicans are rapists_ , _Indians are here to steal our jobs,_ and produce Soviet propaganda to justify why you make weapons of mass destruction that you use to kill people who look like _me_. You’re old, Stane. You’re fucking _old_ , and you’re going to die soon, and with you will die all of that _I am white, hear me roar_ bullshit you keep vomiting all over the fucking planet.”

Her entire vision blurs and goes red.

“I’m the disease; _I’m_ the disease, are you fucking kidding me?” she demands, struggling so hard with the rope binding her wrists that she actually lifts the chair off the ground, her rage boiling over. “ _You’re_ the disease, Stane; men like you will always the disease, you greedy, grasping, insecure piece of _shit_. Men like you are going to die out, though. You’re going to die, but you know what? People like me _won’t_. People like me are going to exist long after I’m gone. You could shoot me in the head right now, and it wouldn’t make a difference. You’d just be delaying your eventual end by a couple of years, but it’ll come, it’ll fucking _come_. It might not be at my hand, but I’ll have a hand in it, don’t you worry about that.”

Obadiah narrows his eyes at her, almost thoughtfully. “You know, when Brock here came to me and told me that you were spreading it for some fucking gutter-rats in Brooklyn, I was so sure you were just doing it to piss off Daddy Dearest. I mean, of all the people in the world, why would you go out with them? And I thought that it would eventually fizzle out, you know, that whatever novelty that you were amusing yourself with would disappear and you’d go back to normal. And then, Howard told me that you were considering _not_ going to MIT full-time once you were done with that fucking public school. That’s when I realised that you weren’t just using them to get your rocks off or get attention from Howard, who couldn’t have cared less; you actually thought you were in love with those morons.”

“I _am_ in love with them,” Toni says, coldly.

“For fuck’s sake, Toni,” Obadiah says, with quiet loathing. “Give me a fucking break. You know, I did plenty of investigating on them. Rogers was some nurse’s kid. He spent most of his life in a fucking hospital bed because he was so sick, and Barnes? Barnes lived in a halfway house with his fucking cousin. I knew instantly that they were just fucking with you so they could get their hands on some cash. God knows they definitely needed them. They spotted you a mile away, baby girl. Saw you, saw that you’d definitely take shit from someone who claimed to love you, and they played you, and you bought into it, because you’re a fucking weak bitch, and your insecurities do all your thinking for you.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Toni declares.

Obadiah shakes his head. “A part of me actually hoped they’d take you for everything you had; because if you had, if you’d ended up some coked-out mess on a stained mattress, surrounded by strangers, then, maybe Howard would have been convinced to cut you loose, give me the company, but I knew that wouldn’t work. Despite your problems, Howard was terribly loyal to you. He thought… you were the only one capable of continuing his legacy. But you, you had no respect for any of it. You wanted what _you_ wanted,” he says, shaking his head. “And you had absolutely no self-respect where they were concerned. Some fucking thugs from Brooklyn, and you would’ve given up everything, given _them_ everything. What makes them so fucking worthy, huh?”

“They’re good men; you’re fucking evil,” Toni snarls.

Obadiah waves her off. “Then again, despite your wealth, you are pretty much nothing more than a bought and paid for whore, except you’re bought and paid for with love. Man, you’re really making me wish I’d gone for you in the end. You’re still young and you’ve got those long legs and nice, perky tits, because I always thought that brat of yours would have ruined them. I’m sure your cunt is great, even pushing out a baby must have made you a bit loose.” He stands. “Oh, well, I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. I didn’t just have you brought here because I wanted to taunt you, sweetheart.”

“Really?” Toni asks, sarcastically. “No fucking way.”

Obadiah smiles down at her, sharp enough to draw blood, and draws something folded out of the inside of his suit. He opens it out and shows her.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she says, grinding her teeth.

“The Jericho,” Obadiah says, cheerfully. “You’re going to build one for me. And then, when you’re done, I’m going to shoot you in the fucking head. Now, I imagine you think your ace-in-the-hole is the fact that you’ve left everything to your son. Once you’re dead, I will make an application to the courts to have myself nominated as Peter’s guardian. I assume that you’ve named either Rhodes or Potts as his guardian should something happen to you?”

Toni swallows hard and remains silent.

“In any case, if it’s Rhodes, I will point out that he’s constantly on tour and hardly the acceptable parent for a child of Peter’s age. And if it’s Potts, I will point out that she’s virtually a stranger and why would we give guardianship to a single woman. I, on the other hand, am a well-respected, well-known figure in this country. What judge would _not_ give me guardianship? And then, well, Peter’s young enough that I can probably do away with all the bad habits that you’ve instilled in him, and he can be the CEO mouthpiece that I always needed from you, without any of the disappointment.”

Obadiah smooths his hands down his thighs, brushing away imaginary specs of dirt.

“Anyway, Brock here will bring you all the materials that you need. Once you’re done, I’ll be able to mass produce the Jericho with our team of engineers, so we won’t actually need you. You’ll be extraneous, Toni, and so frankly, it would be a mercy killing.”

He bites his lip, touches her cheek, and she barely resists the urge to twist her head and bite his stupid fingers off at the knuckle.

“I am sorry it had to end this way,” he says, mournfully. “But you left me no choice.”

“You fucking-” Her face is like thunder. “Of _course_ I gave you a choice, you bastard; you’re just picking the easiest, most pathetic one there is. You wait, Stane, you wait, you think this is the end of me? You think you can just walk out that door and any threat that I pose will be done away with? You’re wrong. I don’t die so easily. I did not put up with Howard and Ty and _you_ , just to die in this fucking room like a _dog_ at _your_ hands,” she snarls, pulling back her lips to show her teeth. “I am going to be the end of you. I’m going to watch you _burn_ , but don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you.”

Obadiah turns around, curiously.

“I’m not going to kill you,” she says, acidly. “Because that would be too kind for everything that you’ve done to me and tried to do to me. You ruined my life, you took away two boys who _loved_ me because of your own selfish wants and needs. You made me think that they didn’t want me, that they were just _using_ me, that they never loved me, but they did. They loved me so much that they were horrified at the idea that _someone_ might be hurting me. Because of you, I lost them and I gained Tiberius Stone as a result, but I can’t even hate that because I wouldn’t have my son without Tiberius Stone. You tried to kill me, you tried to ruin me, bring me down, so you could take my place. Let me tell you a little secret, Stane-”

There is something vicious and defensive in her face.

“You aren’t capable of taking my place. You aren’t _good_ enough. That’s why you were relegated to being the butter and egg man,” she mocks. “It’s because _that’s_ all you’re good for: smiling and getting people to sign checks. Between the two of us, _you’re_ the whore, not me, sweetheart. You aren’t capable of running this company, the company that _I_ made, not you, not Howard. You two made it all the way to a couple of million dollars. _Me_ , I made the company worth _billions_ of dollars. That was me and _all_ me. You aren’t capable of that; you aren’t _good_ enough of that. So, you tried to kill me, you tried to take what I have, because you aren’t good enough to have what I have on your own merit, you grubby prick.”

She laughs, harsh and grating, a sound which surprises them, judging by the way their expressions change.

“But that’s not why I’m not just going to ruin you but remove all instances of your existence from this fucking earth. I don’t give a shit what you did to me or to my relationship with Steve and Bucky. You put your hands on my _kid_ ,” she says, flatly, the anger climbing thick up her throat and choking her. “You think being a mother makes me weak, makes me unworthy of this empire that _my_ father left me. Mothers would _kill_ for their children, you fucking moron; mothers would burn cities to the ground; you… you just kill for money. Between the two of us, the only person that is actually strong for hard-core, brutal murder is _me_. I bet you give the gun to someone else to kill me because you’re a fucking weakling, Stane. Me, on the other hand, _I_ would kill you with my _bare_ hands for trying to hurt my son. I would drench in your fucking blood like it’s gonna make me ten years younger. I would _eat_ your heart. You are _nothing_ compared to me.”

Obadiah stares down at her with awful, grisly fury, the muscle in his jaw throbbing, and he turns to Rumlow.

“If she tries to escape, shoot her in the leg,” he orders.

Rumlow looks upset, as he leers at her. “Is that all?”

“Do whatever the fuck you want,” Obadiah replies. “As long as she can make the Jericho, I don’t care.”

The door shuts, and Toni trembles, full of nausea and manic, cannibalistic rage.

* * *

Six hours later, Toni has her hands in the innards of a bomb, wrapping wires around her wrist for leverage.

The door slams open.

Toni looks up, almost instinctively, and Rumlow storms in.

“Are you done yet?” he asks, irritation bleeding into his voice.

Toni sighs, closing her eyes briefly. “You didn’t go to college, did you?” she asks, her derision thick in her voice.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Rumlow demands.

“I’m just questioning your lack of higher education as a very clear signal of why you would think I would be able to build a highly complicated incendiary device, the likes of which have never existed on this planet before, in a shitty warehouse with limited technology, in _six_ hours,” she mocks.

Rumlow charges forward, and suddenly, his big hands around her throat and she’s being pinned up against the wall, with no room to breathe.

“You fucking bitch, I should cut your tongue out for that,” he growls in her face, his fetid breath making her face scrunch up in distaste.

“Go right fucking ahead,” Toni says, defiance in the tilt of her chin. “But somehow, I don’t think you have the tools here to do it properly, so if you do cut my tongue out, I’m going to bleed out, and Stane won’t get his fucking Jericho, now, will he?”

Rumlow’s face tightens, as he realises that she’s right. And then, a smirk forms on his face, as his hand travels down, groping at one of her breasts through her shirt.

“I guess we could always have some other fun,” he says, suggestively.

“What is it with you men?” Toni demands, bemused. “Why do you always have to resort to sexual assault? Are you really that hard-up that you can’t find someone willing to have sex with you, or is it because you just want to inflict violence on women whenever you get a chance because you perceive some perpetual insult from us?”

“It’s more of the second,” Rumlow says, casually, his hand still on her breast.

“Yeah, well, put it back in your pants, douchebag,” Toni says and slams the point of her elbow into his gut, making him grunt and back off.

Toni tosses her hair and saunters back over to the bombs, peeling back the metal plating on another casing so that she can find the circuit boards inside that are of particular use to her.

Rumlow joins her at the table.

“When Stane asks, how much time can I say it’ll take you?” he asks, his voice sharp like flinders.

“Time,” Toni replies, vaguely.

Rumlow fists a hand in her hair, fingers tight and hard against her scalp, pulling until she winces. “Don’t fucking talk back to me, you bitch,” he hisses. “We’re not in high school anymore. You don’t get to look down your nose at me anymore, walking around like you fucking own the world and you’re better than me, that you’re too good for me, when we both know you’d get on your knees and suck me off the second I asked you to, you fucking slut.”

“I don’t do limp dicks,” Toni gasps out.

Rumlow uses the grip that he has on her hair to slam her head down onto the table, making her cry out, and tears edge at her eyes, as she tries to free herself from his grip.

“You know, my brain’s the money maker in this whole enterprise,” she points out, her voice thready and thin. “You do that again, and who knows, I might fall unconscious and never wake up again, or I might die, or I might get a severe brain injury that completely destroys any and all genius that I have, which means no more bombs, darling.”

Rumlow sneers. “At least it’ll keep your mouth shut, you bitch.”

But he lets her go, seeing reason in what she’s saying, and she rubs at her head where the sore spot lies.

“Wow, you really have anger management issues, don’t you?” she says, after a moment, breathless and pained, as her hand skirts over the table and the various tools lying across it.

“Fuck off,” Rumlow snaps, folding his arguably impressive arms over his arguably impressive chest.

“You know,” she licks her lips, taking a deep, steadying breath. “In the future, you might want to tell your current boss and any other boss that you might have this one little suggestion.”

Rumlow’s arms slip from his body. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that it’s not really a good idea to put a bunch of metal and wires in front of a woman who has made it her fucking existence making _weapons_ ,” she says and promptly bashes him across the face with a long, column of metal, similar to a crowbar.

Rumlow hits the ground with a hard, painful thump, groaning and clutching at his head, and then, she looks down at him, lets the anger wash over and through her, and hits him against the back of his head.

Rumlow goes still, and she takes another breath. She flips the crowbar over her shoulder and saunters towards the door, swinging it open with great relish and a roll of her eyes, because they had decided that she wasn’t worthy of being locked inside.

The corridors of the warehouse are empty as she walks through, checking each and every room that passes her by for a sign of Peter, praying that Stane had decided to keep him here as well instead of somewhere else where she wouldn’t be able to get to him.

She opens the room to the fifth room that she checked, and it’s dark inside, the only source of light being the brightness of the moon fluttering along in sharp lines through the window.

But what catches her attention is the sound of sniffling from one of the corners.

“Peter?” she calls out, bravely.

“Amma?”

And then, a small weight is hurtling towards her, and instinctively, she kneels down before he can barrel straight into her legs, and she catches his warm, small body in her arms, lifting him up. She takes him closer to the window, so that she can see his face better. His face is damp with tears, his eyes red and glassy, and she smooths back his hair.

“Oh, my baby,” she whispers against his forehead, her hair falling around the two of them like a curtain. “My baby.”

“Amma, I was so scared,” Peter replies in a small voice. “I was so scared, and you weren’t there, and those guys, they were so mean-”

“It’s okay, baby, I’m here now,” she says, her lower lip trembling, as she tries to smile for his sake. “Are you hurt?” she asks, the adrenaline running flush through her skin.

Peter shakes his head.

“Did they hurt you?” she asks again, her voice high and thin and half-wild.

Peter shakes his head.

She touches his hair, her palm covering the back of his skull, and then, she’s skating over every inch of him, feeling for any sort of injury. He seems alright, and he doesn’t wince in pain at all.

Toni’s relief is instantaneous, her hands around him tightening.

The smile pulls at her split lip, making it sting, and Peter notices the fleeting way that she grimaces in pain, touching where her lip is dried with blood.

“Amma, you’re hurt,” he says, sadly, his hand drifting up to touch the bruised side of her face, and the tears spill over onto his cheeks.

“It’s okay, I’m fine, I’m _great_ now that I’ve got you with me, huh; your hugs are the best remedy,” she tells him, firmly. “You’re like my power crystals.”

Peter sniffs. “Amma, I’m sorry.”

A knot forms in her throat. “Oh, honey, why are you sorry?” Toni asks.

“I ran away,” Peter tells her, in a small voice, his head hanging down in regret.

Toni inhales. “Yes, you did,” she says, solemn as the grave. “You want to tell me _why_ you ran away?” she asks, shooting the closed door with no small amount of uncertainty

Peter shrugs, simply. “I just…” He blinks hard. “I just wanted to go home,” he admits, softly, his voice breaking.

Toni is already on the verge of tears, and this just makes it worse.

“I like Steve and Bucky and Nat and Clint and Sam and Thor, I really do,” Peter insists. “But I just wanted to go back home with JARVIS, so that I could go back to school, and I could see Ned and we could play with his Lego Death Star-”

“It’s okay,” Toni murmurs, her lungs squeezing too tight in her chest. “I don’t blame you. I don’t, but baby, you have to understand, you can’t do that again, okay?” she says, smoothing her hair back, a hint of desperation to her voice. “You can’t go anywhere without telling me, you understand? Not until you’re a complete grown-up. But until then, you have to tell me where you’re going; otherwise, I worry, and it _hurts_ , Peter. So, please, don’t go anywhere without telling me,” she says, unable to articulate the absolute terror that she felt when Clint came to her and told her that he couldn’t find Peter to a four-year-old not equipped to deal with her emotional burdens.

Peter knocks his forehead against hers. “Okay, Amma, I promise,” he whispers, his voice wet as the tears on his face. “I won’t go anywhere without telling you. I promise.”

Toni sniffs, pressing her lips to his hair. “That’s my boy, my _good_ boy. Now, we’re going to get out of here, okay?”

Peter nods, tucking his face against her neck. “I want to go, Amma. Those men were really mean. I want to go, I don’t want to stay here anymore, can we please _go_?” he asks, with round saucer eyes, the tears coming afresh.

“Yeah, baby, we can go. We’re going now. Why don’t you get on my back, huh?” she asks and manoeuvres his small body so that he can wrap his arms around her neck and lock his legs around her hips. “Okay?” she checks in.

“Yeah,” he murmurs against her shoulder.

“Okay, good. Now, hold on tight,” she says, bravely, steeling herself, as she pads out of the room and into the corridor.

She has absolutely no idea where she’s going, but she’s sure as hell not going to tell Peter that. Hopefully, she finds some sort of fire evacuation map that will help.

She rounds another corner, and Peter’s foot digs into her ribs.

“Why aren’t we outside yet?” he pouts.

“I’m working on it, baby,” she says, absently, and the next corner that she rounds, she stops completely, her feet rooted to the spot.

“Toni?” Steve says, uncertainly, and there are several crumpled bodies lying at his feet. “Toni, Peter, are you okay?”

Peter stirs at the familiar voice. “Steve?” he asks, hopefully.

Toni crouches down so that Peter can slip off her back, and before she can stop him, turn his face into her stomach so he doesn’t have to see the bloodied, broken bodies on the ground, Peter is racing forward and Steve is pulling him up into his arms, resting him on a hip. Peter throws his arms around Steve’s broad shoulders.

“Did you come to save us?” Peter asks, softly.

Steve nods, cradling the back of Peter’s head with one of his big, deft hands. “Yeah, champ, I came here to save you,” he murmurs.

It’s almost perfect, the sight of the two of them together, head against head, and it stirs a sick-sweet ache in her gut.

“Hey, Stevie, you wouldn’t believe how shit these guys-”

Bucky emerges from one of the rooms against the wall, putting his gun back in the holster at his hip, and a splatter of red covering one half of his face. His knuckles are bruised and raw. He looks up and sees Steve holding Peter close against his chest, and he frowns, utterly bewildered.

“Peter?” he says with an unsure tongue.

Peter’s eyes brighten, and he leans forward, almost toppling out of Steve’s arms, but Bucky rushes forward, his eyes wide-blow and terrified, but Peter wraps one of his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, drawing him into the three-way embrace.

“Bucky,” Peter says, contented, snuggling up against Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky kisses him on the crown of his head.

They look like they were always meant to be a family.

When did _this_ happen?

Bucky’s eyes drag across the corridor and land on Toni a few feet away.

His face is awash with relief.

“Toni,” he says, with a well of emotion.

Before Toni can do anything, like ask that question aloud, a hand is covering her mouth, and a firm arm is slung around her waist, drawing her roughly back against a hard chest. Toni struggles but she turns still as a statue when the flat barrel of a gun presses up against her temple, willing the wild flutter of her heart away.

Bucky is the first to realise what’s happening, his face sharpening in awareness, and then, Steve’s face hardens into an angry mask, lowering Peter to the ground and pushing him behind him, shielding Toni’s son with his entire body.

“Come anywhere near us, and I’ll blow her fucking brains out,” Rumlow hisses.

Bucky’s hands itch to go to his gun.

“Rumlow,” Steve says, bemused, his eyes clouded with black rage. “Brock Rumlow? From high school?”

“Heya, Stevie,” Rumlow says with a sharp smile. “You sure turned out big and strong. Sure wasn’t expecting that.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Bucky demands, his voice like acid.

“It was him,” Toni says, quietly.

Bucky looks at her.

“He’s the one that told Stane about us, back in high school.” Tears edge her eyes. “You were right, both of you; it was him, it was always him, right from the beginning,” she whispers, shame prickling the back of her neck. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Bucky take a deep, steadying breath. “It’s okay, doll,” he says, kindly, shooting her a reassuring look. “You don’t worry about a thing, okay? You’re gonna be just fine.”

Rumlow shakes her like she’s a cat held up by the scruff of her neck. “Come on, Buck, don’t lie to her,” he says, his voice a taunt. “She ain’t leaving this warehouse alive.”

Bucky’s mouth pinches in a taut line. “I’m gonna kill you,” he says, firmly.

“I don’t think so,” Rumlow says, amused. “Cause if you make even the slightest move near me, I’m gonna shoot her in the head, and you can mop her blood off the fucking wall. No, you know what’s going to happen here? I’m gonna take this pretty lady with me out of this place and you or your men aren’t gonna stop me at all. I’m gonna get in a car with her, and you can figure out how to get her away from me after, but she’ll probably only be in a few pieces by that time.”

The arm around her waist slides up to squeeze at one of her breasts, making her struggle anew.

“We’re gonna have a lot of fun,” Rumlow murmurs in her ear, nudging his nose into her hair.

Bucky’s lips are curled up in near snarl. “Just for that, I’m going to make your death fucking _brutal_.”

“You won’t get close,” Rumlow retorts.

And then, Steve’s gun is in his hand before Toni can even blink, and he’s raising it and firing it and a bullet is lodging in Rumlow’s shoulder and blood hits her face like a warm wash of heat and iron. Rumlow shouts in pain, and his hands around her body loosen, and Toni throws herself forward, colliding with the wall and out of Rumlow’s nearby vicinity.

There’s a blur past her vision, and more hands are surrounding her, and when she looks up, it’s Steve, dragging her away, far away, and she’s in his arms, and his hands are everywhere, and Peter is in between them, and Steve’s is holding her against his chest.

When she turns her head, looks back at the scene that she’d just left, and Bucky is on top of Rumlow, and he’s beating the shit out of him, his fist landing over and over again into Rumlow’s face until it looks like nothing more than a puddle of flesh, blood and bare, cracked bone, unrecognisable to anyone’s eye. Toni shields Peter with her body, running her hand through his hair.

“Look away, baby,” she murmurs. “Look away.”

Peter peers up at her, and Toni can hear the vicious sounds of violence behind her as Bucky’s fists comes into contact with Rumlow’s face like it’s a punching bag that had spat on his mother. “Why? What’s going on?” he asks, innocently.

Toni grins down at him, running her fingers through his hair (it’s getting long, his hair, but she’s loathed to shear those curls of his). “Absolutely nothing.” She meets Steve’s pale blue eyes and rests her forehead against his. “Absolutely nothing.”


	21. xxi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There aren't any real specific warnings for this chapter, as far as I can see, but I would always keep in mind the previous warnings for the previous chapters, just because there could be some referencing.

Finally, the dull, sodden thud of knuckle against flesh and sinew, bone and gristle stops, and then, a long arm is wrapping around her shoulders, and a damp mouth is pressing against her hair.

“You okay, baby doll?” Bucky mutters against her head.

He smells like copper and iron and sweat.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she says, grappling for his shirt, so that she can rest her head against his shoulder.

Steve kisses her too, open-mouthed against the sweat dappling her brow. “I heard you scream,” he confesses, painfully. “God, it was like you were ripping my guts out.”

“I’m sorry,” she offers, her throat raw.

“Don’t be, don’t be,” Steve says, roughly. “I’m just glad you’re alright. I’d be good with anything as long as you’re alright.”

Bucky’s grey eyes turn onto Peter, stuck in the middle of a three-way huddle.

“And you, little man?” Bucky asks, softly.

Peter’s eyes are big and round in his face. “Can you teach me to punch like that?” he asks, excitedly.

“Uh…” Bucky trails off, spots of colour in his cheeks. “Ask your mother,” he says, quickly,

Toni glares at him, but Peter tugs on the hem of her shirt.

“Amma,” he begins, plaintively.

“No,” Toni says, decisively.

“But then Flash’ll stop making fun of me!”

“Okay, fine, maybe he can teach you a few things,” Toni offers, grudgingly. “But you can never use them against another human being, unless your life is in danger, understood?”

“Yes!” Peter says, pumping his fist, ignoring the second half of her sentence.

“Okay, we should probably get out of here,” Toni says, quickly, lifting Peter into her arms and hiding his face from the carnage around them. “Like, in the next five minutes or so.”

“Why?” Steve asks, his brow furrowed.

Toni takes a deep, steadying breath. “Because I may have made a bomb and set it to rig in five minutes, which will take this whole warehouse down, so… if anyone came _with_ you-” she says, purposefully. “You should probably let them know.”

“Shit,” Steve hisses and pulls out his phone.

Peter stirs at that. “Amma, Steve said a bad word,” he accuses.

“He did, and he’ll pay the piper,” Toni promises.

Bucky secures an arm around her shoulder, as they make their way out towards the front of the warehouse, Toni deciding to trust in Steve and Bucky’s navigation skills.

“Pay the piper?” he murmurs.

“We have a swear jar,” Toni explains, slightly flushed. “It was Pepper’s idea, when Peter was really, really young. Actually, between the three of us, Pepper’s the worst offender. It’s a quarter per swear, and you can’t pay in advance; Rhodey already tried that.”

Bucky shakes his head. “It’s a brave new world.”

“Steve, Bucky?”

“Yeah, Peter?” Steve asks, once he’s put the phone down.

“Why did you two kiss my Amma?” Peter asks, innocently.

Bucky and Steve have equally horrified looks on their face.

Toni just closes her eyes. “I knew this was going to happen,” she mutters under her breath.

* * *

Natasha seizes her in an embrace, once they’re gathered outside.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she says, fiercely.

“I can’t promise that,” Toni replies, bluntly.

Natasha’s brow furrows. “Steve said something about you rigging a bomb-”

And then, the warehouse explodes.

“Holy shit!” Clint exclaims.

“Quarter in the swear jar,” Peter sings, cheerfully.

“How did you… how did you _do_ that?” Clint demands, rounding on her.

Toni shrugs. “People have yet to grasp the fact that maybe forcing a woman who made her first bomb from scratch when she was seven years old to make other, country-destroying weapons and giving her the materials to make those weapons is probably not a good idea.”

“But I had dynamite. I was going to use dynamite,” Clint protests, sounding petulant.

“That’s adorable,” Toni tells him.

Clint narrows his eyes. “You must teach me your craft.”

Toni shakes her head in protest. “I cannot, for it is too terrible a craft to know.” She looks at Steve and Bucky. “Please tell me all the good guys got out.”

Bucky nods. “Thor’s keeping look-out, and Sam’s got his eyes on Stane.”

Toni sobers at the mention of Stane. “I’m going home,” she says, suddenly.

Bucky’s face curdles.

“Toni, maybe that isn’t a good idea,” Steve offers, his voice soft and unmoving.

“Stane thinks I’m here,” she tells them. “Building him a Jericho, and then, when I finished, he was going to kill me. He’s going to ring Rumlow at some stage and then realise what’s happened. There are things I need to do first, before he knows anything. I need to go back to my penthouse. You guys are welcome to come with me, but I have to go back. I have to speak to Rhodey and Pepper and JARVIS, and I have to make plans.”

“What are you going to do?” Natasha asks, curiously.

Toni smiles sharp enough to draw blood. “I’m going to watch Obadiah Stane burn.”

* * *

The doorman doesn’t blink when Toni shows up, covered in blood, Peter in her arms, with a bunch of people who look like they hock cars for a living.

“Good evening, Ms Stark,” he says, pleasantly.

“Yo, Happy,” Toni replies, smoothly. “How you been?”

“Not too bad,” he tells her.

“Did you go out with that ballerina I introduced you to?” Toni asks, curiously.

“We did, but no sparks,” Happy says, mournfully.

“Aw, that sucks,” Toni says, sadly. “I really thought you’d hit it off.” She punches him lightly in the arm. “Oh, well, there are plenty of fish in the sea. In fact-”

Toni takes a mischievous look on her face.

“Natasha, this is Happy; he used to be a boxer. Happy, this is Natasha; she could kill you with her thighs.”

Natasha glowers at her for a moment, before turning a brilliant, pearly smile on Happy, who turns an adorable pink all over.

“Hi, Happy, it’s nice to meet you,” Natasha says, her voice soft, as she stares at Happy through the dip of her eyelashes.

Happy clears his throat. “It’s nice to meet you too, Natasha,” he replies, his throat flexing.

“We have some work to do, but I’m sure that Natasha will sneak down at some point and come and talk to you some more,” Toni says, approaching the elevator with an already sleeping Peter. “See you later, Happy.”

“See you later, Ms Stark.”

Once the elevators close, Natasha rounds on her. “What is wrong with you?” she hisses.

“What?” Toni asks, innocently.

“How could you just… put me in that position? What if I already had a boyfriend?” Natasha demands.

“ _Do_ you have a boyfriend?”

Natasha scowls and folds her arms over her chest. “I could prefer not men.”

“ _Do_ you prefer not men?”

Natasha narrows her eyes. “I hate you.”

“You’ll be changing your mind about that once you get laid,” Toni says, confidently.

“Disgusting,” Bucky declares.

“You don’t get to talk,” Natasha hisses. “All the times that I walked in on you two or you three; this is penance.”

The elevator door opens, and Toni steps out into her penthouse.

“Okay, I’m going to go and put Peter down in his bedroom. Feel free to explore, eat the food in my fridge. I might have been out for a couple of weeks, but JARVIS knows to get someone to come in and get rid of the food and buy more food.”

She hears no response.

She turns around, and all of them are still as a statue, staring in awe at the sight before them.

“What?” she says, confused.

“This place is awesome,” Clint says, his voice hushed. “I am never leaving.”

“It makes our safehouse look like crap,” Steve agrees, dazed. “I bet you don’t have a stove that spontaneously catches on fire.”

“Well, no,” Toni admits.

“This couch is better than my bed,” Natasha snaps, peeking her head out from the back.

Toni hadn’t even realised that she’d made it all the way into the lounge.

“I bet you get all the channels in existence on that TV,” Sam says, with relish.

“Antonia, you have pop tart flavours that I have never heard before,” Thor enthuses, coming out of the kitchen with a box of Dulce de Leche flavoured Pop Tarts.

“Look at that view,” Bucky whispers, flattening his palm over the cool window that looks onto the rest of New York.

“You’re like a God up here,” Steve agrees, joining him.

Toni begs out of the situation by padding into the depths of the penthouse until she reaches Peter’s bedroom. When she opens the door, Peter stirs.

“Amma?” he asks, his voice thick with sleep.

“We’re home, baby. I’m just gonna put you to bed,” she soothes.

“Oh, okay,” Peter murmurs and lets his head fall back onto her shoulder.

Toni lays him out on the bed, smoothing his hair back. “You sleep, baby. I promise I’ll wake you up when it’s light out.”

Peter opens one eye and only one eye. “Does this mean I don’t have to go to school tomorrow?” he asks, hopefully.

Toni snorts. “Yeah, you don’t have to go back to school tomorrow.”

_And maybe not the day after, if everything goes right at Stark Industries tomorrow._

“Yes,” Peter hisses, pumping one of his fists. He takes on an appropriately regretful expression. “I hope I can go to school the day after tomorrow,” he says, in a small voice.

Toni pats him on the head. “I hope so too,” she says, fondly. “You sleep now, and I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“What if I need you?”

“You let me know,” Toni says, simply. “I’ll just be in the lounge with everyone else.”

“Okay. Night, Amma,” Peter replies, turning his cheek to the side so that she can kiss him softly there, over his cheekbone.

“Goodnight, baby,” she murmurs and by the time she leaves the bedroom, he’s fast asleep.

* * *

“Peter down?” Steve checks, when she comes back into the lounge.

Toni nods. “Out like a light,” she tells him. “Okay,” she claps her hands together. “Shall we get to work?”

“What work?” Clint asks, curiously. “We already blew up the warehouse.”

Toni sends him a withering look. “We killed Rumlow, or rather, Bucky killed Rumlow, and good riddance to old rubbish. But Stane? Stane is still out there, and he’s counting on me being dead so that he can stage a takeover of my company _and_ steal my kid’s guardianship out from underneath the people that should be looking after him if I were dead.” She rubs her hands together. “I promised Stane that I’d be the end of him, so I’m going to deliver.”

“And how are you going to do that?” Bucky asks, from where he’s leaning against Toni’s massive window, the twinkling lights of the city that never sleeps illuminating his handsome face.

“I’m going to find evidence that he’s been dealing under the table to terrorists. I’m going to call a few people, and I’m going to Stark Industries tomorrow morning. There’s a board meeting.” Toni grins with all of her teeth. “JARVIS?”

“Yes, Miss Antonia, and might I say how lovely it is to have you at home?”

“You may say it as much as you want. I missed you, J. I’ll go and see the bots when I’m done here, but how are they doing?”

“As I indicated earlier, they have missed you very much; they will benefit a great deal from you vising them,” JARVIS tells her. “And I grieved your absence greatly myself, miss.”

Toni holds a hand against her heart. “I love you too, baby.”

“You have a robot child,” Clint muses.

“I have _four_ robot children,” Toni corrects. “JARVIS, will you please call Pepper and Rhodey?”

“Toni?”

“Toni, what the _fuck_?”

Toni sighs, and her head already begins to pound as she settles onto the arms of one of her couches.

“Will you please calm down?”

“Toni,” Rhodey begins with a dangerous voice. “Toni, what are you doing? Where _are_ you? Who are you with?”

“I’m at home now,” she replies, easily.

“You’re at _home_?” Pepper asks in a shrill voice.

“I’m at home,” Toni repeats.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were at home?” Pepper demands.

“Because I literally just got home,” Toni retorts. “And I just put Peter to bed. Would you give me a second to breathe?”

“Toni, is there someone with you?” Rhodey asks, quietly.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Are they trying to hurt you?”

“No.”

“Toni, will you turn the cameras on?”

Toni sends Steve and Bucky an uneasy look. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s a good idea. You take blood pressure medication.”

“Toni, is the reason why you won’t turn the cameras on because Rogers and Barnes are there, and you don’t want me to see them?” Rhodey asks, his voice like a knife’s edge.

Toni takes a deep, steadying breath. “Yes,” she answers with an unsure tongue.

“Toni,” Rhodey snaps.

“Hey, I’m a victim in all of this,” Toni reminds him, affronted.

“Rogers, Barnes?”

Steve and Bucky exchange a look between them.

“Hey there, Rhodes,” Steve says, bravely.

“You’re lucky that I’m in fucking Afghanistan, you pieces of shit,” Rhodey growls.

“Uh, that’s not fair-”

“Toni, for fuck’s sake, did you forget everything these assholes did to you?” Rhodey asks her, annoyance bleeding into his voice.

“I agree with James. He told me what they did to you, and I’m on my way, by the way, so I’m going to be chucking my shoes at them in revenge,” Pepper muses.

“I didn’t tell you to come,” Toni protests.

“Were you going to?” Pepper asks, pointedly.

“Yes,” Toni admits, grudgingly.

“Then, shut the fuck up.”

“I’m your boss; you can’t talk to me like that,” Toni says, smugly.

Pepper scoffs. “I can talk to you any way I like,” she says, just as proud of herself.

“Okay, will you both shut up and let me talk and explain what the fuck is going on here?” Toni demands.

“Go,” Rhodey orders.

“Okay, so, I went to stay with them and their… _team_ , after DeWitt tried to barbecue me in my office, and they were investigating a group downtown that were putting out feelers amongst the dregs of society to kill me, for lack of a more grandiose explanation. I think we need to clear the air about Bucky and Steve, first, because Rhodey, I feel like you’re going to climb through the phone line to choke them and it’s really giving me anxiety.”

“Please,” Rhodey says, his voice strangled.

“It was Stane,” Toni says and feels her heart flip uncomfortably in her chest.

“What was?”

“Everything,” Toni replies, grinding her teeth a little at the sting that the reminder invokes. “Stane was behind my break-up with Steve and Bucky in high school. He’s the one that pulled a group together to kill me, ex-employees who all had something against me, and he’s been dealing under the table to terrorists, including the Ten Rings, who are currently fucking over Gulmira.”

There’s a stunned silence on the other side, and a for a brief, terrible second, Toni is worried they won’t believe her, the way that Toni didn’t believe Steve and Bucky the first time around, because that’s how good Steve’s manipulation and gaslighting of all of them has been.

“That fucking _animal_!” Rhodey snarls, a terrifying sound of pure black rage that Toni startles at. “I’m gonna kill him, I’m gonna rip his _lungs_ out!”

“Yeah, get in line,” Toni says, dryly.

“It was _Stane_?” Pepper shrieks. “All of this time, it was _Stane_? Ugh, I’m going to stab my heels into his _eyes_!”

Toni drags her hand over her face, a well of emotion building up inside her, like a floodgate breaking. “Thank you,” she says, roughly. “Thank you for believing me.”

“Of course we believe you,” Pepper scoffs. “Fuck Stane.”

“I want to go back to how he was involved with your break-up with Rogers and Barnes, because I don’t understand how he even knew about your relationship with them, but can you explain the dealing weapons under the table thing first,” Rhodey says, his voice strained, taut at the edges.

“Okay, you’ve, uh, you’ve seen the footage in Gulmira,” Toni says, carefully.

“Yes,” both Pepper and Rhodey answer at the same time.

“Did you notice that the weapons that the Ten Rings were using had _Stark Industries_ written across the front?” Toni asks, carefully.

“I did not until you just told me,” Rhodey tells her.

“Yeah, well, the weapons do,” Toni says, her voice dark. “They have my name on them. So, I started looking around.”

“That’s why you called me,” Pepper says, suddenly. “Asking me about that invoice?”

“Yep. We have a few people part of Stane’s great scheme. You might want to write this down.”

“Actually, I’m already recording this conversation,” Pepper replies, easily. “Plus, uh, I told Phil, and he said he’s gonna call you.”

“Phil,” Toni groans.

“Who’s Phil?” Steve whispers in her ear.

“Phil is Pepper’s boyfriend, and I’m pretty sure he’s a secret agent.” Toni pauses. “Or an assassin, I haven’t worked it out yet. Okay, this is good, because, uh, we’re gonna need some back-up.”

“Why do you need back-up?” Pepper asks, warily.

“Because I’m planning on confronting Stane tomorrow at the board meeting tomorrow,” Toni says, immediately.

“You’re gonna make a scene, aren’t you?” Pepper asks, warily.

“I am,” Toni says, definitively.

“Lovely,” Pepper says, dryly. “I’ll tell Phil.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your connections to a shady government agent,” Toni says, fondly.

“Okay, so you found out that people were moving weapons under the table; how did you get to Stane from that?” Rhodey asks, confused.

“Oh, he admitted it to me,” Toni says, simply.

“What?” Rhodey asks, coldly.

“Yeah, Stane kidnapped me a couple of hours ago.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Yeah, so, uh, Peter snuck out of the safehouse that I was staying at with Bucky and Steve and their friends, and he was kidnapped-”

“ _What?_ ” Rhodey asks, shrilly. “Where is he? Is he okay? Is he hurt?”

“He’s sleeping, I told you that already,” she reminds him. She gentles her voice. “He’s good now. He’s tired, and I’m sure if he’s bothered by what happened, he’ll let me know, or it’ll manifest once he’s awake. I just want to let him sleep for now,” she whispers, the guilt curdling in his throat.

“Who took him?” Rhodey demands, with all the fury of a Papa Bear, because that’s what he’s been for Peter in all of these years that the little boy has been alive, even before Ty died.

Toni exchanges a look with Steve and Bucky. “His name is Rumlow. He’s one of Stane’s men. Rumlow took Peter, and then, he sent a picture to my phone with Peter in a chair and a gun pointed at him. Naturally, I freaked out.”

“Naturally,” Pepper repeats in the same tone.

“I… against all advisement,” she says, flicking an uncertain look the way of Steve and Bucky, who suddenly go taut, as if remembering how she’d just left, crawled out of a window and run off after her son. “I decided to go after Peter to the address where Rumlow told me to come.”

“And what happened?” Rhodey asks, letting out a low, shuddering breath.

“I got to the location where Rumlow told me to come, and I was knocked out. When I woke up, I was tied to a chair, and Stane and Rumlow were in the room. Stane told me that he was the one who pulled together a group of people that were already pissed at me for one reason or another and wanted me dead. DeWitt was one of those people-”

Pepper makes a soft noise of surprise.

“DeWitt was pissed that I sacked him, and his wife left him, and he lost his kids in the divorce, and he drowned himself in a bottle, so he came after me, against Stane’s wishes, couldn’t take the wait anymore. He failed, of course, because Bucky and Steve showed up and saved me from them.”

Steve tangles his hand with hers and squeezes, offering her comfort. She smiles at him, touching his cheek with the edge of her fingers.

“Stane said… he said that he was selling under the table, that he was lining his pockets, that they were valuable clients, and who cared who was buying the weapons as long as someone was buying them,” Toni tells them, feeling a pulse of loathing that courses right through her body. “He… I told him, before,” she muses, “Before DeWitt and everything, that I had plans to stop it, stop weapons’ production, and he… he said that’s why he got the anti-Toni group together, because he was scared I was going to damage his… his fucking profit margin, I guess.”

Toni cuts herself off, pausing, her teeth tearing at her bottom lip, and she breathes, deep and measured, something bitter in her mouth.

“Toni?” Rhodey says, when she doesn’t go on.

“Toni,” Steve says, softly, his hand on her shoulder.

Bucky pushes himself off the wall, approaching her carefully. He lands in front of her, touching her face, his hands sliding into her hair.

“You okay?”

“Did I do this?” she asks, suddenly, and the room grows colder for some reason.

“What?” a number of voices ask.

“Did I _do_ this? Did I bring this on myself and my son by telling him that I was going to stop weapons’ production? Should I… should I not have made that decision? Should I have… _kept_ making weapons? What did I-”

“Toni,” Steve says, sternly. “Toni, Stane would have done this with or without you telling him that you were going to stop weapons’ production. Stane was always planning on getting rid of you. You told us that yourself. He had it in for you and your father this _whole_ time. He’s been fucking with you your entire life. Whether it happened today or six months from now, it was going to happen. You don’t have to feel bad about making a decision about _your_ company; you don’t have to soothe his ego, take care of his feelings. He’s an insecure, violent, misogynistic sociopath. Don’t you dare take the blame for what he’s done.”

Toni’s hands are suddenly hot, as he takes them into his own. “Yeah?” she asks in a small voice.

“Yeah, honey,” Steve says, softly.

Rhodey makes a displeased noise over the line. “While I appreciate you saying that shit,” he says, stiffly. “You and I are gonna have a chat about you calling her _honey_.”

“Understood, Colonel,” Steve replies.

“Toni,” Rhodey’s voice gentles. “You want to keep going?”

Toni clears her throat, banging her fist against her chest. “Okay, um, Stane gave him his whole evil speech. He was behind the group organised to kill me, he was selling weapons under the table to terrorists for money, and he’s the one that broke up me and Bucky and Steve back in high school.”

“But… but why?” Pepper asks, her voice rough and dragging like stone.

Toni swallows hard. “Apparently, he was always owed my company, and Howard shafted him by giving SI to me, even though he apparently did all the work, and I shafted him by not realising that I was too soft and weak to run a weapons’ manufacturing company and giving it up to him like I was supposed to. He said a bunch of woman-hating things to me, groped my breast-”

“I’m sorry, _what_?” is the collective disgust and righteous indignation from everyone in the room and the phone.

“Get over it. My revenge will be swift and brutal,” Toni mutters. “He, then, told me that he was the reason that Steve and me and Bucky broke up in high school.”

“How?” Rhodey asks, carefully.

“Rumlow,” Toni explains. “Rumlow went to high school with us; he’s been on Stane’s payroll since the beginning. Rumlow wanted to get in good with Howard, and so, he was going to tell him about my relationship with Bucky and Steve, but Stane got there first. He told Howard what happened in a completely different way, spun it to make it sound like Steve and Bucky were hurting me, using me for sex and money, and were blackmailing me. Howard, for some reason, decided to act like a decent father for once in his life, or maybe just wanted to protect his capital, told Stane to deal with it and get me away from them.”

“Why do I feel like I already know where this is going?” Rhodey mutters under his breath, displeased.

“Stane went to Bucky and Steve and told him that I’d told Howard and Stane that I was being abused by them, that they were blackmailing me with sex tapes and naked photos of me to get money out of Howard. He threatened them, with that oily, slick way that he has, and he told them that Howard wanted to break their legs or have them killed, but he talked him out of it. Instead, they agreed on a restraining order.”

“What?” Rhodey says, flatly.

“Bucky and Steve went to court; Howard put up a convincing case in front of the judge about his abused, broken daughter, and the judge granted the restraining order. That’s why they…” she grinds her teeth. “That’s why they stopped talking to me, Rhodey. Because of the restraining order, because it would’ve been illegal for them to contact me in some way. Stane did that, Rhodey. Stane did _all_ of it.”

“Fuck,” Rhodey declares, heavily. “Fuck, Toni.”

“Yeah,” Toni replies in the exact same tone.

“Does this mean I have to apologise to them?” Rhodey asks, grudgingly.

“No,” Bucky and Steve say, immediately.

“What?” Toni asks, softly, staring at them in surprise.

“Look, we all fucked up where this is concerned. We’re not innocent, and Toni’s not innocent, and we’re trying to, uh, to get past what happened,” Bucky tells everyone. “I think we’ve all had enough of apologising. No more apologising.”

“Hey,” Natasha protests. “I apologised to her, and she apologised to me. Why does James get out of it?”

“Because I’m cooler than you,” Rhodey sniffs. His voice sobers. “No, she’s right. I should apologise. I’m sorry,” he says, firmly and sincerely. “To both of you. I said some shit-”

Bucky shakes his head, unseen to Rhodey. “No, you said those things because you thought we’d hurt your friend-”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t my relationship-”

“Okay,” Toni interjects. “Enough. Both of you. He’s apologised. It’s all good. Let’s move on.”

“What did Stane want with you?” Pepper asks, curiously. “I mean, I’m assuming that he didn’t just kidnap you so that he could recite his whole evil plan.”

“He wanted me to make a Jericho,” Toni replies.

“A Jericho?” Clint pipes up.

“It’s a… it’s one of the latest bombs that I was planning on releasing,” Toni explains. “He gave me the materials, set Rumlow to guarding me, and then, I bashed Rumlow in the head with a crowbar, and I built a bomb set to explode the entire warehouse. I found Peter in another room, and we got the fuck out of there. We ran into Steve and Bucky killing what I assume is a bunch of Stane’s goons? I never really quite figured that out.”

Steve shrugs. “They weren’t you, and they pointed guns at us, so we just assumed that they were free for all.”

Toni blinks. “Fair.”

“I feel like I shouldn’t be listening to this,” Rhodey mutters. “Are you mafia people? Is that it? Toni, did you fall in with the mob while I’ve been gone?”

“Kind of,” Toni admits, grudgingly.

“Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to tell him that,” Sam offers.

“Rhodey’s cool; he’s been covering for my illegal actions since I was fourteen,” she tells him, bravely. “The warehouse blew up and we came back here. So, you’re officially caught up to speed.”

“I feel like I should have asked you this the second that you told us that were kidnapped. Are you hurt?” Pepper asks, hesitantly.

Toni touches the side of her face that Stane had hit multiple times, and her cheek throbs, forcing her to wince.

“Yes, she is,” Bucky says, his jaw clenching hard.

“How hurt?” Rhodey demands.

“One side of her face is totally bruised purple,” Natasha adds, helpfully.

Toni glowers at her.

“I’m calling Bruce,” Pepper says, suddenly.

“No,” Toni says, immediately.

“Toni, I’m calling Bruce,” Pepper says, sternly.

“Bruce is probably sleeping like any other normal person at this time at night. There is absolutely no reason for him to come up here. I’m _fine_ ,” Toni retorts.

“Toni,” Pepper repeats, her voice cold.

“Pepper,” Toni says in the exact same tone.

“Toni, you’re hurt,” Pepper says in a softer tone.

“I’ll be fine. I’m just a little bruised. I’ll put an ice pack on it, and it’ll heal,” Toni soothes.

“I’m calling Bruce, I’ll be there soon anyway,” and then, Pepper hangs up the phone.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!” Toni snarls.

“You kind of deserved it,” Rhodey offers.

“Are you my friend or not?” Toni demands.

“I am your friend; I’m your _best_ friend, but you’re hurt, you were just kidnapped by a guy who’s spent your entire life gaslighting you, emotionally and psychologically abusing and manipulation you, and now, fully resorted to physically and sexually assaulting you,” Rhodey stresses. “Which means that _someone has to look at you_.”

“I am fine,” Toni retorts, grinding her teeth.

“You are _not_. Rogers, Barnes, _tell_ her.”

“Toni, maybe it would be a good idea to get checked out by this Bruce guy,” Steve offers.

Toni wheels on him. “I don’t need to be checked,” she insists.

“Miss Antonia,” JARVIS pipes up. “Dr Banner is in the lobby and is requesting entrance to the penthouse.”

Toni wonders if she should just send him away, but then, everyone would just get angry at her.

“Fine,” she says, grudgingly. “Let him up.”

Barely a minute passes, and the elevator door opens, and Bruce steps out, wiping at his glasses.

“Toni?” he says, uncertainly, staring at all of the people gathered here. “Should I come back at another time?”

“Yes,” Toni offers, cheerfully.

“ _No_ ,” comes the collective response from everyone else.


	22. xxii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are at the end. It's been a great run, everyone, and thank you so much from supporting this fic from start to end.
> 
> There are no specific warnings for this chapter, but mind all the other warnings for the fic.

Toni’s shoulders slump. “Fine, come in,” she says, grudgingly. “Everyone, this is Bruce Banner. He and I know each other from college. Bruce dropped out of med school for science, and now, he has just as many PhDs as I do, but in the squishy sciences.”

“I resent that,” Bruce mutters, offering his hand to each one of them. “Who are all of these people?” He closes his eyes. “Toni, we talked about this. If you’re having an orgy, you’re not supposed to invite me to them.”

“Oh, please, you know that our one night together changed your life forever,” Toni says, dismissively.

Bruce’s flush heightens, as Steve and Bucky immediately bristle, glaring at him. “Toni, you’re not supposed to talk about that,” he hisses.

“Why?” Toni frowns. “I’m not ashamed.”

“Is there anyone you _haven’t_ slept with?” Natasha asks, pointedly.

“You,” Toni says, bluntly. “Thor, Sam, Clint.”

“Rhodey?” Bucky asks, his face pinching into an expression that Toni doesn’t recognise.

“In college,” Rhodey replies, promptly, clearly taking some glee in the confession.

“Pepper?”

“Had a threesome with her and Phil,” Toni tells him.

“Holy shit,” Clint mutters. “You really get around.”

Toni levels him with a flat look. “Are you slut-shaming me?”

Clint pales in a rush. “Absolutely not. I was just… commenting,” he says, carefully.

“Good,” Toni says, coldly, and then, smiles.

“Toni,” Bruce says, his voice strangled. “Can you please sit on the couch?”

Toni sighs. “You’re so bossy, Brucie Bear,” she mutters but does as he asks, sitting primly on the edge of the couch.

Bruce sits in front of her. He grasps her chin in his hand, tilting it from side to side. He feels along her cheek, and her face scrunches up in pain.

“Nothing’s broken,” he says, finally. “You’re just bruised. You’ll need ice, and it should go away.” He looks at the rest of them, his fury crackling like a forest fire. “Did any of these people do this to you, Toni?” he asks, tangling his hand with hers as if he’s ready to fight on her behalf.

“No, they didn’t,” she reassures. “It was someone else.”

Bruce sends her a wary look. “Do I really want to know?”

“No,” Toni says, slowly. She smiles bright and hard. “I’ll let you know when it’s all over.”

Bruce’s face softens. “You need anything else?”

Toni shakes her head.

“Mind if I crash in one of your guest rooms?”

Toni waves her hand. “You go, babe.”

Bruce squeezes his shoulder and leaves the room, shooting Steve and the others with a careful, indecipherable look.

“Toni?”

“Yes, Thor?” she asks the blonde Viking.

“Might your friend have preferences of the male variety?” Thor asks, following the departure of Bruce with puppy dog eyes.

“If you’re asking me if Bruce bats for all teams, yes,” Toni reassures.

Thor smiles, smugly. “Very well. I believe I will see if he will want to share a meal with me.”

“So, what’s your plan?” Rhodey asks, curiously. “With Stane?”

“Oh, well, I was planning on confronting him with Phil and a bunch of secret agents tomorrow with all of the evidence in front of the whole board, having him arrested for treason, and then, I’m going to stop weapons’ manufacturing,” Toni tells him, cheerfully.

“Okay,” Rhodey lowers his voice. “You’re sure about this?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay, so, what sort of evidence do you need?”

Toni frowns. “I mean, he confessed it to me, but I need a hardcore paper trail linking Stane to all of the people that I already know within Stark Industries that are involved in the, uh, illegal trafficking of arms.”

“Who do we know of in Stark Industries already?”

“I’ve got Samantha Carlisle, Victoria Snow and the shipping employee in the Van Nuys warehouse,” Toni explains.

“Okay, so have you looked at all of their emails?”

* * *

The next day, Toni shows up at Stark Industries with Pepper, Phil, and around five SHIELD agents in black suits, with the same blank expression.

“You’re sure about this?” Pepper asks her one last time, stopping her in the elevator and fixing her hair, the neckline of her dress, with a methodical eye.

Toni takes a deep, steadying breath. “Yeah, I’m sure about this. I’m really good about this. Let’s do it.”

The elevator doors open, and Toni steps forward, taking the charge. She opens up the door and steps inside and watches as the board member who was talking falls completely silent, all of the faces turning to look at her in surprise.

“Hey, guys, what’s shaking?” she asks, a smirk threatening to shape her mouth.

Stane looks like he’s been skewered in his seat, a horrified glint in his eye, a sickly-looking flush in his face, as he realises that all of his plans, everything he wanted and strived for in life are about to fall down right in front of him.

 _Good_ , Toni thinks with relish.

“Ms Stark,” one of the board members says, carefully. “What are you doing here? We were told that you would be unable to attend due to an illness.”

“Yeah, let me guess, Obadiah was the one to tell you that?”

The board member nods.

“Yeah, he was lying,” Toni replies, easily.

Stane stands, coming around from his corner of the table, his forehead crowned in a sheen of sweat. “Toni, why don’t we go and talk outside?” he says, with a hint of warning.

“Fuck you,” Toni says, bluntly. “Shut the fuck up. You’re _done_ here, you understand?”

“Toni,” Stane says, sternly. “Toni, don’t do this. Not like this. Let’s just go somewhere and talk.”

Toni leans forward. “You tried to have me killed, _multiple_ times. You poisoned my company with your greed and unethical behaviour. It will take me years to clean out your disease from everything I have done here. You ruined the best relationship I have ever had. And worst of all, you hurt my kid. I’m going to watch you burn,” she says, her mouth locked in a snarl.

She leans back, with a deep well of satisfaction, selfish and mean.

Phil steps forward, deciding to take it from here.

“Obadiah Stane,” he says, sternly.

“Yes,” Stane says, peering at Phil the way one would a cockroach, with terrible disgust.

“You’re under arrest for the illegal trafficking of arms and treason against our nation,” he says, simply, and motions for one of the agents behind him to approach with a pair of handcuffs.

Stane blusters as his arms are wrenched behind his back. “What the… just what do you think you’re doing?” he demands, his voice rough.

Phil tilts his head at him. “Like I said, we’re arresting you.”

“You… you can’t do this, you have no proof!”

“Oh, I provided all of the proof to them,” Toni tells him with a sharp smile.

The SHIELD agents start to drag Stane away.

“You stupid bitch!” Stane hisses, his face contorting into bitter, seething hatred. “You fucking stupid bitch, you actually think you’ve won, don’t you? You spoiled little cunt, you’re as weak as you’ve ever been, and you’re going to take this company down with you. You’re not strong, Toni. You’ve never been strong. All you’re good for is getting on your back, and one day, you’re finally going to realise that and those mob bastards that you’re spreading your legs for, they’re going to leave you the same way they left you a decade ago. No one stays for you, Toni; you’re not worth staying-”

Toni leans towards Phil. “You remember what we talked about before?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I do it now?”

“Go right ahead,” Phil replies, easily.

“Great,” Toni says, happily, and promptly kicks him right in the balls.

Stane goes down like a pack of cards, clutching between his legs and crying out, curling into a ball.

Toni just stares down at him, her hands planted on her hips, as she stands like a tower.

“You’re pathetic,” she says, flatly. She lifts her eyes to the SHIELD agents. “You can take him away now.”

The SHIELD agents send her a glower and somehow manage to get Stane to his feet, despite his incessant groaning in pain, dragging him out of the room, as he continues to spit more and more vile shit at Toni.

She turns to the board, who sit there, confused and afraid, as they stare at her – good, that’s how she wants them.

“Hi, everyone. Guess what? There’s going to be some changes around here,” she says and closes the door behind her.

* * *

Toni stands at a podium outside Stark Industries, staring down at the flock of reporters gathered outside, from the top step all the way down onto the street and further back.

“This morning, Obadiah Stane was arrested by for the illegal trafficking of arms and treason against our nation,” she says, without flinching, and when she looks into the crowd, all of them are there: Rhodey, Steve and Bucky, Natasha and Pepper, Thor and Sam and Bruce and Happy, flinging her various iterations of a thumbs-up.

She clears her throat.

“This is a great blow to us all, and to me, and a betrayal of the trust that I, my employees and the American public have placed in Stark Industries and Mr Stane. Now, following the investigation and the discovery of what Mr Stane has been doing behind all of our backs, I have come to a decision about changing the direction of this company. As such, effective immediately, I am shutting down the weapons manufacturing division of Stark Industries.”

And then, the world explodes.

* * *

He looks old when she steps into the room, older than she imagines in her dreams, in her thoughts.

Logically, she knew that he was old, her father’s age, if he were still alive, but it’s somehow worse than that, his skin pulled tight across his bones, like he’d lost a lot of weight.

She takes a seat at the table, folding her hands politely on top of the table.

Stane sneers at her. “Come to gloat?”

Toni stares at him. “Yeah,” she says, finally. “I did come here to gloat. When I first thought about coming here, I thought about asking you why, why you did it. Why you sold those weapons, why you tried to kill me, why you kidnapped me, kidnapped by son, what I did to you to make you hate me so much when I only ever loved you, but then, I thought about it, and I realised that I don’t give a shit.”

Obadiah leans back in his chair, and the handcuffs pinning him to the table clink. “Is that so?” he asks, sounding as though he doesn’t believe her.

“Yeah. I was going to let you sit here and spit more of that bile and poison that I know you have inside of you, and then, I realised that I don’t want to give you that much breathing room. I don’t want to allow you to say more than you’ve already said, all the shit that you’ve given me. I don’t care if you think that I’m worthless because I’m a sad, broken, abused brown bitch. I don’t care if you hate me because I’m an Indian or because I’m a woman or because I’m a mother, or because of all of those things. I don’t care if you disapprove of my business practices, of my decision to stop weapons manufacturing, or how I feel about you dealing weapons under the table, behind my back, to _terrorists_. I don’t _care_. I’m not going to sit here and defend myself to you, because there’s nothing that I need to defend myself _for_.”

“Look at you,” he taunts. “You’re finally a big, brave girl, aren’t you?”

Toni smiles at him. “I’ve always been a big, brave girl. You just didn’t want to see that in me, because you thought it would make it easier to kill me. But look at where we are now, Stane. You in chains, and me free to go whenever I want.”

“You think you’ve won?” Stane taunts. He leans across the table. “You think just because you got your friends to put me in these handcuffs that you’ve won? You think you can do the things that I’ve done to keep that company afloat? Toni, you don’t have it in you.”

Toni holds up a hand to stop him. “I’ve heard all this shit before,” she says, bored, exhausted. “I’ve heard everything. I’ve heard everything that you have to say, and I can’t say I’m fucking bothered, Stane. I just can’t. Your opinion of me is worthless, because I did win. I fucking won. You want to sit there and pretend like there’s something that I don’t know, that there’s some piece of wisdom that I haven’t understood yet, that I’m too young, too stupid, too brown, too much of a fucking woman to understand, that I need to realise something and walk back in here years later with my tail between my legs so that you can take over, so that you can feel more of a man with whatever the fuck you think you’re dangling over my head. Well, guess what, I’m not going to. I’m not going to give you more air than you’ve been allowed. I’m not going to give you more substance, more space, another fucking plot point in this narrative that you’ve created. I’m not going to let you sit there and think that you’ve won in _any_ small way.”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?” Stane retorts.

“You’re alive because I allow you to live,” Toni replies, calmly. “Because I could easily pay someone to come in here and shoot you between the eyes. Hell, the people that I’m sleeping with, the people that you tried so fucking hard to take me away from, would do it in a heartbeat if I asked it of them. That’s what love is, Stane. That’s why you’re sitting there, and I’m sitting here, and I am totally unbothered by you.”

“So, why not have them do it? Why not have them kill me?”

“Because I love them,” she says, plainly. “Because I don’t want them to do things for me that would sully them in any way. They deserve better than that from someone who claims to love them, and I do, Stane, I do love them very much.”

Stane scoffs. “Toni, honestly, I don’t give a shit whom you think you love or don’t love. We both know that this isn’t going to end the way you want it to. They fucked off once, and they’ll fuck off another time, but you’ll keep going back to them, won’t you? You’ll keep going back to them and spreading your legs and letting them use you as much as they want to, and it’s fucking worse because you’re not a kid anymore, Toni. You’re a fucking adult, and you’re still stuck in the same _poor, woe is me, daddy didn’t love me_ mentality. You’re a fucking mother, and you’re still doing this shit. I feel sorry for that kid. I really do.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Toni says, feeling that burst of rage kindle in her gut. “Don’t you fucking dare talk about my son.”

Stane’s eyes light up, and he leans forward, hunger in every inch and line of his body. “There we go, there’s the nerve,” he says, softly.

“No,” Toni snaps. “No, there’s no fucking nerve.”

Out of her handbag slips out a handgun, which she lays on the table right in front of her, far enough that she knows he can’t reach.

“There’s no fucking nerve, because if you talk about my son, the son that called you _Uncle Obie_ and whom you had fucking kidnapped so that you could kill _me_ , then, I am going to kill you. I am going to take this gun and shoot you between the eyes and walk out of here, and not give a shit about you for the rest of my life. Do you understand me?”

Stane is silent.

Toni slides to her feet, collecting the gun. “I’m not going to kill you unless you give me reason to. Death would be too quick, and I don’t have time to kill you the way that you deserve to be killed, Obadiah. You deserve pain; you deserve to have your insides on your fucking outsides and for me to do it to you because all the other people in this world, those people that you made orphans and widows and widowers because of your fucking _greed_ , aren’t in a position for you to do so. You deserve all of that, but I don’t have time to do it, so this is the next best thing. This is you going to suffer in this fucking jail for the rest of your life, if I have anything to say about it. This is where I _win_ , and you _lose_ , and you fade into fucking nothing, because I am, and I will always be the queen of that empire that you wanted so badly. It is mine, Stane, and I would kill a hundred and a thousand of you before I ever let you take it away from me and do with it the things that you were going to do, hurt innocent people the way you were going to hurt them. This is where you lose, and you cease to exist, because when I’m done, no one is ever going to remember you as anything but that old, white bastard who tried to put his greedy fucking paws on the world and failed because the _brown bitch_ , the real fucking queen, _stopped_ him.”

And then, she saunters over to the door.

“Toni, you can’t leave me here.”

“I can do whatever the fuck I want,” she retorts.

“No, no, you can’t leave me here. Toni, Toni, we need to talk about this.”

She can see the panicked edge to his voice, and it makes her smile, makes her giddy on the inside.

“Toni, don’t you fucking dare leave me here.”

He’s angry now, agitated, and the handcuffs are slamming against the table, as he tries to lunge for her.

She knocks on the door, and the guard comes to collect her.

“Toni, come back. Come back, Toni. Toni, you can’t do this without me, and you know it. You know you need me. You _need_ me, Toni.”

“No, I don’t,” she replies, heavily.

She walks out, and she can hear him scream.

“Get back here, get back here, Toni! Toni!”

Her heart pounds in her chest.

* * *

That evening, Toni comes back to her penthouse, slipping her six-inch heels off at the elevator and padding on bare feet across the plush carpet into the couch.

“Why isn’t this stupid thing _making_ it?”

“I don’t know, Steve. It just stops the dough before it even gets to the pan. I don’t have control over that!”

“See, this is why Peter told us not to use the Rotimatic,” Steve points out. “Come on, we have to figure this out before Toni gets back. She’s had a long day; she deserves to not have to think about cooking after everything that’s happened.”

Toni grins with all of her teeth as she pads closer to the kitchen.

“Now, what do you two think you’re doing?” she asks, leaning against the doorframe.

Steve and Bucky steps away from the large, white machine perched on the edge of her kitchen counter like it scalded them, sending her a guilty look.

“We just wanted to make you dinner,” Steve explains, miserably. “But the, uh, the Rotimatic’s not working.”

“Because the Rotimatic is shit,” she tells them, comfortingly. “That’s why I made a new one that actually works.”

She points to her sleek chrome version of the automated _chapati_ -making machine sitting in the corner of her massive kitchen.

Bucky and Steve follow her finger, and their eyes dawn with realisation.

“ _Oh_ , that’s what Peter told us about,” Bucky says, after a moment, his lips turning down at the corners.

Toni steps into the kitchen, clapping them on the shoulders, and makes her version over to the other machine, switching it on.

“There we go,” she says, swinging around. “It’s already making the _chapatis_.”

Steve grins at her. “We have food.”

“Oh?” Toni quirks an eyebrow, warmth curling into the empty spaces of her ribs.

“Peter told us what you like,” Bucky explains, shyly.

“And you _made_ it?” Toni asks, sceptically.

“Of course not,” Bucky scoffs. He beams at her. “We bought it.”

Toni kisses them both stupid. “So, what did you buy for me?”

“ _Malai kofta_ , _papdi chaat_ , _lassi_ , _kadai paneer_ ,” Steve lists off, and his eyes brighten. “Oh, and we found a place that makes South Indian sweets, and we got, uh, _peni_?” he says, uncertainly, like the syllables don’t form right on his tongue.

Toni kisses both of them again. “ _Peni_? You got me _peni_?” she asks, hardly daring hope.

No one has ever bought her _peni_.

Steve nods. “Peter said that it was your favourite.”

Toni throws herself in their arms, kissing each of them in turn until their lips are heavily swollen and their hair is sticking up like they’ve been electrified and they’re about one kiss from being fully erect in their jeans.

“It is, but… in the future, maybe, don’t trust the four-year-old, because he’ll just take you for a ride and get what he wants,” she advises.

“Understood.” Bucky hesitates. “Does that mean, in the future, we’re going to be put into more situations where we might have to trust the four-year-old?” he asks, hopefully.

Toni pauses. “Do you _want_ to be put into more situations where we might have to trust the four-year-old?” she asks, carefully.

“It’s just that… the way your statement was phrased, it made me think that maybe you’d changed your position… on _us_ ,” he adds, just in case she wouldn’t realise what he was talking about.

“I… may have reconsidered a few things,” Toni tells them, a smile kicking up one side of her mouth. “It sort of comes with the territory of the whole… my godfather tried very hard to kill me thing.”

“So, what did you decide?” Steve asks, staring determinedly down at his feet.

Toni worries her teeth on her lower lip. “I love you,” she says, first of all. “And I’m like 99.67% sure that you two love me too. I think we can agree to that, right?”

“You should, uh, you should probably correct your calculations. It’s 100%,” Bucky says, firmly.

Toni’s eyes are over-bright. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, with his smile trembling at the edges.

Toni takes a deep, steadying breath. “So, yeah, I thought…” she closes her eyes. “Stane tore us apart all those years ago, and he… he did it because he could, because he thought me being with you was not using my full potential or putting me on the right path, the path I was always meant to be on, according to him. Staying away from you would only be doing what he wanted.”

Steve frowns. “So, you… want to be with us out of spite?” he says, uncertainly.

“No,” Toni says, quickly. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I meant…” She takes a deep, steadying breath, her black eyes shadowed by her lashes. “I can’t have Stane win. More than that, I can’t… I don’t want to be unhappy for the rest of my life because I’m trying to protect Peter from pain. He… I tried to do all of those things,” she says, the words tasting like acid in her mouth. “I tried to do all of those things. I…” she grinds her teeth. “I… _killed_ my husband to protect him, and-and I completely missed Stane,” she says, blinking back self-directed, furious tears. “I let my son near a man who… who has spent my entire life fucking with my life, twisting me, manipulating me, _using_ me for his own purposes, so I could satisfy his greed. I let my son near a man who was going to kill me and had no problems with kidnapping him and pointing a gun at him, a fucking four-year-old to make him behave and to threaten me with.”

“Toni,” Steve says, softly, his voice like she’s all that’s good and sweet in this world.

“I did that. I put him in that position, despite my best efforts to protect him from all of it,” Toni says, simply, with a mirthless smile. “This doesn’t mean I suddenly want to stop protecting him or anything,” she says, quickly. “It’s just… I don’t know, it’s complicated, I suppose,” she whispers. “I… I don’t know if I can protect him from anything, and I don’t think it’s an appropriate life lesson to teach him that I deliberately made myself unhappy to make him happy. I don’t want him to go in life thinking that he has to compromise himself for other people, that what he wants and what he needs aren’t important. I know it’s different when it’s your kid, but my relationship with my father fucked me up royally and screwed with every other relationship I had with anyone, and call me crazy, but I just want him to grow up and have functional relationships with people. I want him to be physically healthy, but I… also want him to be emotionally healthy as well,” she murmurs, her words easing the weight in her chest a little.

Bucky and Steve look at each other and sidle closer to her.

“So, what does that mean for us?” Steve asks, his heart all over his face.

“I… I am not letting Stane win; I want my son to be able to process good and bad things that happen to him in a healthy way, and I love you,” Toni says, with a small, earnest spread of her lips. “I love you, I love you, I love you, and I want to try. I want to… I want to see where this goes, and we probably need couples’ counselling and individual therapy and all that shit, but I… look, if things end badly between us, they end badly between us, and while I am a control freak bitch, I will… learn to deal with it, and I will… well, with Peter-”

“We won’t disappear,” Steve says, firmly. “Even if things end badly between us, we won’t disappear. We’ll still be your friends; we’ll still be there for Peter. That’s not going to change, okay. We’re never abandoning you again.”

“Yeah?” Toni says, quietly, giddy and sick all at once.

“Yeah,” Steve squeezes her hand.

“Okay, then,” Toni leans forward and brushes her mouth against Bucky’s, and then, Steve’s, taking it as a confirmation of what they mean to each other.

When she pulls back, she claps her hands together and laughs, the sound bright and high as bells, which makes Steve and Bucky’s mouths stretch out in an old, snug smile that makes her heart feel huge in her chest.

“Let’s eat, shall we?” She tangles her hands with theirs. “J, can you let Peter know that it’s time for dinner?”

“Will do, Miss Antonia.”

“Oh, and please remind him to wash his hands,” Toni remembers at the last minute. She tugs on Steve and Bucky’s hands. “Come on, let’s try the _peni_ before Peter comes down here and I have to explain the concept of wilful hypocrisy to him.”

They watch, amazed, as she gets a whole tub of _peni_ and pours jug after jug of steaming-hot milk over it, her eyes shining with hunger.

“Amma, what are you doing?”

Toni covers the tub with her entire body, stretching her arms out, facing a curious-looking Peter in the doorway.

“Nothing,” she says, firmly. “Nothing at all.”

Peter narrows his eyes. He looks at Steve and Bucky. “Don’t let her eat the chilli chips. Then, we’ll have _none_ ,” he says, long-sufferingly, and then walks back into the dining room.

Toni glares after him. “I don’t know how I managed to raise such a rude child,” she huffs.


End file.
